Derranged Marriage
by GratuitousViolets
Summary: Gambit concocts a crazy scheme to prevent himself from being married to the daughter of a rival guild by marrying Rogue, but can he convince his hateful and abusive family to come to terms with his marriage? MATURE themes.
1. Part One

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part One ~

~ Unexpected Proposal ~

* * *

Marriage.

The word itself had always sounded so absurd but never more so than when spoken from his father's lips. Perhaps it was just the way he'd said it...as if the word '_marriage'_ had ever actually held any real meaning.

There was an awkward silence in the kitchen; the toast was burning and had yet to pop up, the smell of poor quality coffee hung in the air, thick and acrid, almost ashy. Remy could feel the stare of his adoptive father...it felt heavy, like being weighed down with hot wet tar. His brother, Henri, lurked in the threshold of the kitchen, his forearm resting against the doorjam, his hand dangled with a cigarette between his fingers, the white smoke curled into the air, disappearing with the grey of burning toast.

"Ain't y' got somet'in t' say?" asked his father, Jean-Luc, his thin gaunt face had a sharp and determined expression plastered across it as per usual, and it only reminded Remy more of why he hated being home.

"Yeah..." said Remy, insolently, "I got plen'y t' say," he looked away, contemplating his words, "such as 'are you out of your goddamn _mind'?" _

Jean-Luc's eyes widened, his face incredulous, "wha' I tell you 'bout speak'n t' me in that way!"

Remy ducked his father's open hand and moved out of the chair, "y'all are off y' heads if y' think I'mma marry an _Assassin!"_ he objected as he moved over to the toaster and swiftly slammed it with his left hand; the lever was always jammed and needed a good smack to pop the toast up. The toast was blacker than swamp mud and Remy shook his head in disgrace at it. So much for breakfast...

"Don' you _get_ it...you _marryin' _that lil' firecracker o' theirs gonna bring peace t' us all..."

With a grunt of disgust, Remy picked a burned slice of toast out of the toaster, grabbed a butter knife and began to try to scrape away the charring as much as he could at least so it would be edible – it was after all, the last slice of bread in the house. "_Peace_?" he asked, he gave an uneasy laugh. "_Peace_ is it? There be more chance o' Seth Rogen bein' elected as our next _President_ than there is o' _Thieves _and _Assassins_ ever bein' remotely _peaceful _with each other."

"When y'_ joined _the Guild _officially,_ y' made an _Oath_, Remy. An _Oath_ tha' stated y' gave y' _life_ to the Guild. Y' life ain't y' own anymore..."

Remy glanced over his shoulder at his adoptive father, he threw him a cold glance. "Oui..._verbal contract_. Not really worth the paper it printed on, non?"

Henri finally spoke up, "wha' could be so _bad_ 'bout marryin' Bella Donna? She hot, fit...tight little a-"

"Henri," warned Jean-Luc.

"And girl is in love wit' you...callin' here all the time lookin' for y'," reminded Henri. " You could do worse-"

"And I can definitely do much better," Remy interjected, "her brother _Julien_ is protective of her anyway...t'ink everyone out t' steal her virtue..." he rolled his eyes. "As if that girl got _any _virtue left."

"Julien won't do anything to you if you marry her," Henri shrugged.

"Y' t'ink so, eh?" Remy asked, he didn't even bother to butter the toast – he doubted there _was_ any butter – before putting it to his lips to take a large bite. "I swear he got a...unhealthy obsession wit' her. Sometimes the way he _look_ at her...gives me the creeps...like...she a possession..."

"Julien just old fashioned, is all," said Henri, sounding quite bored with the conversation now. "He t'ink women should always be _pure_ and _under the thumb_."

"I don' really care 'bout what he t'ink," Remy remarked, "I don' wanna marry Bella Donna."

"I don' get it, y' used to like th' girl, used to get _mad_ when we told y' not to get involved wit' her..."

"Yeah, that was _then. _This is _now._"

Jean-Luc stood up slowly; Remy gazed over at him and tried not to find the few inches of height difference intimidating. The truth was though, as much as he knew how to handle himself, he'd always found his adoptive father somewhat intimidating...he'd been on the other end of beatings, and punishments...and he always felt threatened nonetheless when his father had that look teamed up with being taller and slightly broader.

Remy glanced down at his toast, he tried to seem aloof although he knew it would only anger his father further.

"There ain't no _defyin' _this, Remy. It ain't a request, it's an order..."

He scoffed, "an _order?_ And wha' if I _don' _do what y'all tellin' me t' do?" Remy raised an eyebrow, he swallowed a mouthful of nerves; it tasted of burned toast.

"Then y' exiled," Henri spoke up behind him.

"Suits me," Remy grumbled unhappily.

"Henri, shuddup," muttered Jean-Luc. "Remy, y' got no choice. Simple as _that._"

"I have a choice," Remy responded quickly, "I can leave. Y' won' even _need_ t' exile me."

Jean-Luc chuckled, "y' don' get it, Remy. Thieves don' _walk_ away from the Guild. If they do...they don' _walk_ very _far_."

"I can take care of myself," Remy tossed the remains of his slice of burned toast into the sink and shoved by his father roughly. "No one gon' make _me _marry any one, especially _not_ an Assassin. I rather die first."

"Y' wan' that? Really?" Jean-Luc laughed now, "Remy, m' boy, y' stand that girl up at the alter, and the whole o' her _family_ be out for y' blood. This already all been arranged _way _above y' head. If word get out to that girl that y' gonna dishonour her and her family by not upholding your end of the deal...y' as good as signin' y' own death warrant."

"Then hand me a _pen,_" dared Remy. "Don' y' get it? I don' _care._ No one gonna make me marry anyone," Remy growled as he headed for the door.

"Not like y' can stop it from happenin'."

"Whatever," Remy uttered before pushing his brother aside and leaving the kitchen. _I'll find a way,_ he thought angrily.

* * *

The girl known only as Rogue awoke with a sudden start; she wasn't sure what had aroused her slumber...only that something had. She brushed her hair away from her face with a grumble of exhaustion and looked around the room; in the early morning light, she couldn't see much, but she saw enough to know that nothing was out of place. Her iPod shuffle still sat on the nightstand, she could hear the music from the earphones although they'd long since fallen out of her ears while she slept...perhaps it had been the lack of sound that had suddenly stirred her from her sleep? She wasn't sure.

The alarm nearby read 4.58am, causing her to sigh and roll onto her side, trying to convince herself she'd perhaps been dreaming and that all she really needed to do right now was try to get back to sleep; she was well aware of the training session at 6am that she would be expected to attend, and missing out on sleep before having to go through a gruelling exercise regime was just asking for trouble.

A faint soft tapping on glass disturbed her, and made her sit up straight and glance towards the window. A silhouetted figure was at the window, two glowing red eyes piercing through the dimness.

She nearly screamed and in the split second between gasp and almost-shriek, there was the recognition that hastily set in; she knew the silhouette, she knew those red eyes; she clamped a hand over her mouth quickly to stifle her scream. She threw the covers off, and quietly got out of bed creeping across the noisy floorboards that were cold beneath her bare feet. She shivered despite the comfortable warmth of the bedroom and she approached the window cautiously.

"Gambit," she asked confusedly, she gazed through the glass at him; her eyes adjusted to the poor light and she could see it was indeed Remy LeBeau.

"Open the window," he instructed.

"Ah don't think so," she remarked smartly, she folded her arms across her chest and hoped her nightgown wasn't too revealing. "What are you doin' here?" she demanded in a whisper.

"I need t' talk t' you," he said from the other side, his voice muted through the window. "C'mon, open the window, lemme in."

"Are you crazy, Wolverine would go ballistic if he thought I had a _boy_ in my room...'specially if it's you," Rogue reminded.

"Then come out," Remy instructed, he gripped onto the ledge, "I meet you down in the garden."

"How about you _tell_ me why Ah _should_, first?" Rogue proposed.

"'Cause I need t' talk t' y' urgently, chere."

Rogue rolled her eyes, and then nodded; whatever it was certainly had to be urgent. It wasn't every day Remy LeBeau turned up at her window asking to talk to her; she supposed he could have just carried on in his usual manner, which would be to kidnap her and force her to listen to him. She leaned close to the window to watch him let go of the ledge and climb down the drainpipe, then she rushed to grab her robe from where it had hung on the bedpost and slip her feet into her unlaced black sneakers. She pulled the window open and climbed out carefully, trying not to make a sound as she slipped her feet carefully into the lattice of the rose trellis that braced itself against the wall, boasting white blooms that were fragrant as her cheek brushed against them while she climbed slowly down to the garden below.

He was waiting for her several feet away from the trellis, standing with his hands buried in the pockets of his long coat, his head low, shoulders hunched against the chilly morning air. In the strange early dawn light he looked different and she couldn't put her finger on why...was it that he looked tired...or just older?

"What's goin' on?" she asked in a hushed whisper, she pulled her robe tighter around herself, feeling the bitter sting of the cold circling around her bare legs and creeping up her nightgown. She began to walk towards the field overlooking Bayville Bay, she heard his footsteps on the gravel as he followed her.

"I know I ain't in _any_ position t' ask for favours..." he began, he caught up with her and they walked slowly together across the thick lush green grass towards the edge of the field, where a wooden-railing marked the edge of the cliffs looking down into the dark crashing water.

Rogue blinked, she tried to ignore the exhaustion trying to pull at her, "Yeah, you're right...you're not." They walked for several more minutes in silence, until they finally reached the fence, and stopped there, it being far enough from the mansion to be out of earshot of everyone, hopefully including Logan, should he be awake.

Remy exhaled softly, it was a deep and heavy sigh that was full of...what? Sadness? She was unsure...she didn't know him enough to be able to read him or his emotions. What she did know of Remy LeBeau was that he played cards very close to his chest...metaphorically speaking...and he rarely showed any kind of emotion at all.

Rogue examined him briefly, trying to pretend as if she wasn't staring. _Either he's puttin' on an act for pity or..._

Or he really was upset about something.

He reached into his pocket and took out a packet of cigarettes; he put one to his lips and lit it, shielding the flame from the wind with his hand.

"Ah guess since you're _here _now," she gave in, "you may as well _shoot _and ask whatever the heck you came here to ask of me."

Remy took a long drag of the cigarette, then exhaled the foul-smelling smoke that disappeared almost immediately in the wind. "Y' turned eighteen recently, right?"

Rogue raised an eyebrow, "Yeah...I guess I must have _missed_ your birthday card."

He gave a vague laugh, then fell silent for several moments as he smoked; this behaviour unsettled Rogue so much that she eventually shoved him to get his attention.

"Gambit, what's goin' on...why are you _here_?" she demanded.

She was caught off guard with his immediate reply.

"Marry me."

Rogue choked, and she wasn't sure if it was due to the smell of his smoke, or if it was from the shock. Did he _really _just ask her to marry him? Was she hallucinating...or dreaming? Whatever this was...her response was powerful enough to make him continue.

"Don' look at me like that...I'm serious," he grunted as he looked onto the horizon; the light from the sun was beginning to appear as if it were coming directly from the water itself.

"Ah don' think you _are!_" Rogue retorted, "Ah think you're _insane_!"

"Maybe," he mused, he leaned on the rail.

Rogue hugged herself, "is this some kinda _joke?_" she finally managed.

"No. Like I say, Chere, I'm serious. Deadly serious."

"What's goin' on...why are you askin' this? It's not like we're in _love_ or anything!"

Remy turned to glance straight at her, "if I don' get married _now..._in six days I'm gonna be _made_ t' marry this...girl...back home."

This news made her pause, she wasn't sure why she didn't like the idea of Remy LeBeau getting married to some girl she didn't know...besides, since _when_ had Remy LeBeau ever been the marrying type? And _should_ he be at age eighteen? "Ah don' understand," she finally managed, she tried to control the tone of her voice.

"Arranged marriage...the elders of my guild figured it'd be fittin' for me to marry the daughter of the rival guild's Patriarch...in order to bring peace to the two guilds..."

"Oh..." Rogue mouthed. "But why me?"

"Y' about the only one I can trust," he sighed, "Y' seen in my head, y' must know what I been through..."

"Ah..." Rogue began, "Ah...only saw bits 'n pieces...it's like been handed a jigsaw puzzle with eighty-percent of it missin', Gambit...I don't _know_ anything..."

"Rogue...if I have t' marry _Bella Donna_ on Saturday...my life will _never_ be mine again...I'll never be free..."

She frowned, "And Ah'm supposed to _care_ about your freedom?"

"I know you care," he sighed, "Just like y' know I care about _yours_."

"But..."

"Chere...this girl...she...obsessed with me...won' leave me alone...wants to be with me everywhere...ain' even married yet and already talkin' about _babies_..."

"What's the worst that could happen if you _don'_ marry her?" Rogue shrugged.

Remy looked down at the rail, his hands gripped it tightly, the cigarette had burned down to nothing but ash. "They kill my whole family...I hate 'em all but...don' want that on my head..."

"We can't just..._get married_," Rogue shook her head. "We're not in..." she awkwardly put off saying the last word. It had easy to say it so breezily before...but now it felt...wrong to say it.

"We're not in love. I know...it's perfect," Remy finished for her. "It ain' gonna go any further...we bot' know that..." he gestured to her.

Rogue tried to not let the hurt show in her expression when he said that, but it must have because his face dropped and he grabbed her shoulders.

"What I mean..." he sighed, "is that...y' stubborn...y' still holdin' grudges wit' me...it ain't gonna...turn into somethin' it's not...y'know?"

"No..." Rogue pushed him away, "Ah think what you're _sayin' _is that because I can't_ touch_ you...it's not gonna complicate anything..."

"That's not what I'm sayin'," he said quickly. "What I'm sayin'...is that y' the only girl...ever...I can _trust..._and y' not like the other silly _girls_ who I can _make_ fall in love wit' me...I need someone with a clear head...a brain...determination...someone who hates me enough t' never _let _feelin's get in the way..."

She shook her head, "this is just...crazy. You want me _mad _enough to hate you so Ah never _like_ you, but you want me to _like_ you enough to marry you? Sorry, Gambit, your logic doesn't really _apply..._"

He tossed the cigarette over the cliff. "Believe me, this thing is _all_ logic...it's the only _way_ I t'ink I can get around this."

"Explain..."

"My family...Catholic," he grunted, "divorce is a sin, and all that," he rolled his eyes at this. "If I marry Bella Donna...I can never publicly _divorce_ without disgracin' the family and end up bein' killed by _her _family and bein' the catalyst for a _massacre_. However, if I got _married..._" he said softly, "they can't _force_ me to get divorced without messin' wit' religion and beliefs..." he explained.

"And what about the girl you're meant to marry...if you don't marry her, aren't her family gonna come after you anyway?"

"It's a possibility. There's also a slight possibility that they might let me live...her brother Julien hates me...probably be relieved that I married some other girl...her daddy on the other hand might be sincerely pissed with me. But I got plans that might _just_ get me away with this...all we gotta do is show proof we got married...then..."

"Then what...?" Rogue demanded, "Then we'd be _married_ for the rest of our lives! What happens if _Ah_ ever fall in love in the future...what happens if _Ah_ wanna get married..." she pointed out. It was a weak argument, she knew from the experience of her powers that it was unlikely she would ever get far enough in any relationship for marriage to be an issue.

"Then we get divorced _quietly_...lettin' my family t'ink we still married anyway...no one need t' know" he offered.

"Say Ah _was_ willin' t' help you...and Ah'm _not _in _any_ way sayin' Ah am..." Rogue hugged herself tighter against the cold. "What _exactly_ is it entailin'? And Ah'm not makin' any _commitments here _like Ah _said..._Ah'm just _curious._"

"Come back to New Orleans wit' me for a while...put up this...facade that we're happy and all the rest, that w' been _in love_ for a while...and then maybe a few mont' down the line...y' get mad at me and...walk out on me?" he offered. "Should be easy...I'm good at pissin' y' off..."

Rogue shook her head, "It's _too much_ to ask of a person..." she decided. "Ah can't just...take off from _here_ to be your wife, even if it _is _just for pretend..."

"It _ain'_ gonna be for pretend...y' will be my _wife_...y' jus' won' really _love_ me...the love part is pretend...the wife part _won' _be."

"This is so...complicated...and complicated is what you _don'_ want," Rogue reminded.

"Do this for me...Rogue, I'm beggin' y'...if y' turn me down...I'm gonna lose my future..."

"What _is_ your future? Why don't you just _run away_ like usual?"

"'Cause this time...they _will _find me...and kill me...they're _Assassins..._it's what they _do,_" he sighed. "I like my life too much to let _that_ happen..."

"What happens to you if we _do _get married?" Rogue asked, "and then we fight and Ah leave...where do you go from there, just as a matter of interest," she asked curiously.

He looked her in the eyes, "I wait feignin' heartbreak for a few mont'...then..." he glanced towards the mansion behind them, "then I come to join _your_ family..."

Rogue gaped at him.

"If they'll have me."

"So you're asking me to _save_ your life...so you can _join _the X-Men?"

"In a nutshell."

"No," Rogue shook her head stubbornly, "it's too much to ask."

Remy paused to contemplate this, then slipped his hand into the other pocket of his coat and pulled something out; he dropped to his right knee, and reached for her hand.

"I don't have gloves on," she yanked her hand back.

"I be careful..." he promised, he pulled the sleeve of his coat over his hand and took a hold of her left hand with the sleeve. "Chere...ain' another woman in the entire _world_ I would get on one knee and swear my life to. Ain' no other woman on earth I could _trust_ enough t' sign my life away to. All I'm askin' is that you _take me_ as I am...be my wife...be my _friend_," he raised his left hand with the small velvet box and flipped it open to show her a beautiful diamond engagement ring. "Be the _only _woman to wear my ring..." he took the ring from the box, "and I will owe my life to you...for as _long_ as _I live_..." he slipped the ring onto her finger carefully by holding the solitaire gem and gently grasping her wrist. It slipped on as if it had been cut specifically for her finger...a perfect fit.

Rogue glanced down at the ring, it dazzled her in the light coming from the beginning of the sunrise. "You're puttin' me in a real _awkward _position..."

"I know," he apologised.

"If we're gonna be gone by the time the rest of the mansion wakes up...we gotta go now..." she sighed.

He stood up and grabbed her under the arms and spun her around in a swift moment, "you're a lifesaver, Chere...literally."

* * *

Rogue awoke with a start, the humming of an engine was what had aroused her from her slumber; somehow for a moment she had imagined she was still at home in bed, safe and sound. When she opened her eyes, though, she was faced with the harsh light of an aeroplane cabin. She glanced around, realising that she was sitting in the first class section, and was momentarily confused until she remembered what had happened...and where she was heading for.

"Have a nice nap?"

The voice made her jump although she realised she should have expected it. She turned around to glance at her travelling companion. Remy LeBeau sat with a newspaper in his hands, it seemed to be the business section he was reading through his designer sunglasses.

"Not particularly," she rolled her neck to work off the discomfort of having fallen asleep in a bad position. "How long have Ah been out for?"

"About three hours," he turned the page casually, "we should be there in 'bout an hour," he added.

Rogue shifted awkwardly in her seat; it should have been comfortable but she felt too hot and too tired to be comforted by the padded out leather.

"I'm glad y' woke, actually," he confessed, he closed the paper. "I'm t'inkin' we should maybe talk...'bout the weddin' and stuff."

"What's to talk about?" Rogue made a face, "random weddin' performed by some Elvis Impersonatin' scumbag, right?" she made a face.

"Somethin' more tasteful. We want this t' look like a _real_ weddin'...not just like we got married for the sake o' gett'n hitched. It's gotta _look_ authentic..."

"Fine, whatever," she rolled her eyes and grabbed the newspaper away from him and opened it up at a random page.

"What y' gonna wear?" he queried casually.

She frowned, "it's not like Ah _planned _to elope with a moron," she reminded, "So Ah didn't exactly _bring_ anythin'."

"It's fine...I get some money...y' go out shoppin'...get anythin' y' wanna wear."

"Does it have to be _white_?"

Remy pondered this, "It has to look like...a _traditional _type weddin'...if it looks like it was rushed and was too simple...it'll tip off everyone right away that this be a sham."

"Ah'll find somethin'..."

"Y' not gonna come to our weddin'...lookin' like the Bride of Frankenstein or somethin', are you?" he raised an eyebrow.

"It's _my _weddin' as well as yours, _darlin',_" she reminded, with a smug smile.

"Fine..." he said, the tone of his voice told her it really wasn't. "There some other stuff we need t' talk 'bout. Important stuff. Personal stuff..."

"Such as?"

"Y' real name..." Remy sighed, "I...need t' know. I know y' don't _like_ tellin' people it...but..."

"I'll tell you. _Later._" She had no intentions at all of ever revealing her name to him...she was sure that would give him far too much power over her and she couldn't afford that.

"And we should also get to know each other...or it's gonna seem real weird when we go back to the Big Easy and we're like strangers..."

Rogue turned to look at him, "I can know all I want to about you in two seconds," she wiggled her fingers suggestively.

"I still won't know 'bout _you_ though," he pointed out. "And I ain't gonna be put in a position where I have to lie to convince them I _know_ you enough to be married...so..."

"I thought you knew a lot about me...you followed me for a while," she stated coldly as she glanced at the comic section of the newspaper, pretending to be more interested in it than him.

"I know y' like purple, y' favourite season is Fall, and y' read those dumb _Twilight_ books but you _hide_ the covers by puttin' Stephen King book covers over them...'cause y' scared people would think you were lame if they found out..."

Rogue frowned, "how do you know that?" she demanded.

He just shook his head with a soft laugh and looked away from her, "there's other stuff I don't know...your name...your favourite movie...your favourite song..." he explained. "I need to be convincin' that I _know_ you."

"Whatever," Rogue shrugged. "Just tell them whatever the hell you like, Ah don't care. This isn't a first date, Ah don't _need _to tell you everythin' about me."

"Okay..." he pursed his lips. "Be prepared t' nod and agree with everythin' I say then...even if y' don' like it."

* * *

The lights of Las Vegas were bright even in the glare of a blinding hot July morning. Rogue shielded her eyes from the sun as she stared out of the window of the taxi cab as they drove along the Strip.

"Ah always wanted to visit here," she mumbled as she gazed upon the impressive faces of well known Casinos. "Jus' didn't figure when Ah eventually _made _it here Ah'd be about to get married."

Remy LeBeau nodded as he listened, although she was sure he was only half-paying attention. He had a shiny new iPhone in his hand and was flicking through pages of information, sliding his fingers deftly across the screen.

"What are you doin', anyway?" she asked curiously as she glanced at the phone.

"Textin' y' the address of the Chapel. Y' need to be there by seven pm _tonight._ No later, 'k?"

"Fine," Rogue agreed bitterly as she felt her cellphone vibrating in her hip pocket, she slipped it out and glanced at the address, "here at seven."

Remy glanced at her phone; "I heard it vibrating earlier...I think your friends are trying to get in touch with you."

"I can't answer, how am I _supposed_ to explain this?"

"Probably best y' don't until _after_ the wedding...that way they can't really stop it."

"I guess..." Rogue sighed, she wondered if perhaps she _should_ answer...should tell them what was about to happen. Maybe this _was_ something that needed to be stopped before it got out of hand. The word _mistake_ kept ringing over and over in her ears as if whispered by phantom lips.

"Mon ami," Remy leaned forward a little in the taxi, "let us off here..."

The taxi driver made a face, "you want me to stop in the middle of the _Strip!_ Are you _nuts?"_

"I'll double your tip," Remy remarked.

The driver halted the cab immediately; it skidded and Rogue nearly fell from the seat. Remy took money from his pocket and passed it through, "merci," he said gratefully, and he let Rogue step out of the cab first before following. They rushed across the road of flowing traffic – much to the disdain of many drivers – and then stopped outside the nearest casino.

"I need t' go take care of business, but first, we gotta get checked into a hotel," he gestured to the grand entrance of a hotel/casino directly ahead.

"That place looks expensive," Rogue admitted.

"I can afford it," he led the way through rows of slot machines, lights glittering, bells ringing, the sounds of coins falling out, being dropped into paper cups. Rogue lagged behind to look, feeling slightly out of her depth and oddly fascinated. "Come on, we ain't got time to hang around looking at slot machines..." he grabbed her hand and tugged her along.

"This sucks, you dragged me here and Ah can't even try the slots?"

"Later," he promised, "after the wedding. Y' can spend as much o' our honeymoon night playin' slots as y' like. For now, we got stuff to do."

Rogue sighed, she tried to break his hand free of hers but he had his grip strong and secure, and he pulled her through the casino until they ended up inside a large lobby, their footsteps echoing on marble floors as they walked along to the reception area.

"You sure you can afford this place?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, now ssh," he mumbled, he pushed his sunglasses up his nose a little further and approached the reception desk with a sudden air of royalty about him, he spoke with a French accent when he announced his arrival to the girl at the computer.

"I have a reservation," he said, before the blonde in her thirties had time to greet him. "Monsieur Jeremy LeNoir," he sounded debonair and charming as he spoke.

Rogue had to wonder when he'd had time to arrange all this? She'd been with him since they'd left Bayville – how had he found time? Had he done this online using his iPhone? Or...had he planned everything ahead of time knowing what her answer would be when he'd proposed?

She hovered nervously at the reception beside him as he handed over credit cards that looked authentic yet she knew without a doubt could not be completely genuine. She saw him hand over photo identification – the eyes photoshopped exquisitely to make him appear human.

"You have no luggage?" asked the receptionist, peering over the counter to check.

Remy gave a coy smile, "myself and my cherie have...decided to...how you say...elope?" he feigned the French accent so terribly well that Rogue almost believed him too.

"Oh...congratulations," said the receptionist, her eyes lighting up.

"We're not married yet," Rogue spoke up, her cheeks reddening.

"Congratulations on your engagement then," said the receptionist delightedly, "give me a moment and let me see if the Honeymoon suite is available..."

Rogue felt a wave of embarrassment and panic overwhelm her as the receptionist typed a few commands into her computer, her hand sliding back and forth with the mouse.

"You're in luck, it is!"

"That won't be necessary," Rogue said quickly.

"Transfer our reservation to there, that would be wonderful, merci," Remy took the receptionist's hand and kissed it tenderly.

Rogue rolled her eyes at him.

"Now," said Remy, he cleared his throat a little, noting Rogue's anger with his behaviour, "My fiancee requires...a dress, you understand?"

"Certainly," said the receptionist. "I can recommend many wonderful bridal boutiques."

"And a salon?" Remy asked.

Now fuming, Rogue grabbed a hold of Remy's wrist, "excuse us," she said quickly to the receptionist before dragging Remy off to one side of the lobby. "What the hell are you playin' at?"

"Y' need a dress and a hair style...y' gotta look...authentic, or my family ain't gon' buy it."

"What's _wrong_ with how I look?"

"Nothin', far as I can see, but they'll be picky...no woman show up to her own weddin' with everyday hair and makeup..." he explained. "When a girl get married...she wanna be a princess...a fairy princess, the epitome of perfect and glowing, the most pristine thing in the world..."

Rogue tried to swallow her anger, and she followed him back to the reception.

"I'd like a limousine to be ordered for Madamoiselle," he gestured to Rogue, "to take her wherever she likes to go. I'd also like a limousine to pick her up here at six-twenty."

"Of course, sir."

_This is mad, _Rogue thought in dismay. _Limos? Wedding dresses? This is like some crazy circus!_

Remy signed at the reception and spoke some more with the girl while Rogue stood with her stomach churning. Was it too late to back off? Could she run for the door?

_Why am Ah doin' this? Why did Ah let him _talk_ me into this? It's insane! Do Ah really _care_ if his family disown him or if the Assassin's kill him for dishonouring them?_

A bellboy showed the way to the elevator; Rogue felt Remy's arm wrap around her shoulders and knew it was all part of the act. How convincing he would be, she doubted his family could ever disbelieve him for a second. She let his arm sit there until they got out of the elevator, and she moved ahead of him to follow the Bellboy into their room.

The room was exquisite, walls in rich golden damask wallpaper, the king sized four post bed was swathed in velvets, silks and devoree. The carpets were thick and springy beneath Rogue's feet as she crossed the room.

"This room has one of the best views," said the Bellboy.

"Merci," said Remy, he took a twenty dollar bill from his pocket, and tipped the boy before letting him go on his way.

Rogue watched Remy close the door; an odd sense of awkwardness began the moment she heard the lock click. She felt her stomach tense, and she swallowed nervously. They were _alone_. In a _bedroom._ A _honeymoon_ suite.

"What...was with the French accent?" she asked.

"Fake passport I had made for me...French passport, under the name Jeremy LeNoir."

"Jeremy 'The Black'," Rogue raised an eyebrow. "Nice."  
"It also says I'm twenty-five," he added with a smirk. He crossed the room and searched for the bathroom, a large en-suite with a generous sized sunken tub, double sink and huge gilded mirror. "Come see this," he urged.

Rogue stepped into the bathroom, it being more lavish than she had expected. "How can you _afford_ all this?"

"I've been savin'...for a rainy day," he ran his long tapered fingers gently across the slick marble effect tiles on the wall nearby. "It's exquisite, isn't it?" he admitted fondly of the bathroom.

"Call it what you like, swamprat," Rogue folded her arms, "it's still a room people bang in."

He laughed sincerely and turned to look at her, "your sense of romanticism leaves a lot to be desired, cherie," he stepped back into the room and he sat upon the bed, he seemed to sink slightly into it.

Rogue watched him, she leaned against the doorframe, glancing at the one bed. "There's...just one bed."

He shrugged, "most honeymoon suites don't do a _twin bed_ option, Chere, for obvious reasons..." he reminded.

She made a tiny "oh," sound, she hugged herself.

"There's a couch right here," he gestured to the far end of the room where there was a television, a fireplace, and a velvet loveseat, "I can live wit' that."

Rogue nodded, she pursed her lips together and looked around the room feeling...empty. How odd it was to stand there, a place where other women would be thrilled to be standing.

"Y' look...sad," he admitted, gazing at her.

"Just tired...haven't quite caught up with my sleep," she wandered across the room to the large windows and pulled back the muslin drapes to reveal the sliding doors leading out to their own private balcony. Although it was beautiful, decorated with flowers and it's own loungers and table with chairs, all she could think of was that couples may have spent their most intimate moments there...and it felt odd to be imposing on that under all this...pretence.

The phone on the nightstand by the bed rang, and Remy picked it up, "oui?" he asked, remembering to keep up his French act for the hotel staff. He listened a moment, said "merci," then glanced over to Rogue. "Your Limo awaits, ma cherie," he smirked as he hung up the phone.

She frowned, "Ah _coulda _just took a cab."

"It's y' weddin' day...live a little," he pulled his wallet out of the inside pocket of his coat and retrieved a gold credit card, "buy your dress, shoes, whatever else y' need to look...like a bride. The girl downstairs has some addresses you can try out for boutiques and salons. Also get some other clothes...since y' didn't actually pack anythin'."

"Fine," Rogue uttered, grabbing the card from him irritably, "Ah hope this isn't _illegitimate cash..." _

"Don' worry where the cash t' pay for that card comes from, just focus on get'n dolled up for me. I won't see y' until y' arrive at the chapel...and anyway, it's _bad luck _t' see the bride before the weddin'."

"Where will you be?" she asked, tucking the card into her jeans pocket.

"Doin' the same as you, chere," he sighed, "workin' on makin' the illusion real...which reminds me...I need...y' name..."

Rogue frowned, "why can't _I _have a fake I.D. Too?"

"'Cause y' not _marryin' Jeremy LeNoir. _Y' marryin' _Remy LeBeau._"

"Yeah but...your family don' really _know_ about me anyway, other than Ah _saved_ your daddy that one time...why should it matter?"

"I...guess it doesn't."

"Can you do it?" she asked hopefully.

"I know a guy...it'll cost...but...it's...doable..." he gave in. "What y' wanna be called?" he asked with a sigh, she could tell the thought of getting her a new identification was going to be tricky for him...but still...if he was asking her to sign her life away to him for a time, it was only fair he went out of his way to make this easy on her.

"Ah...wanna be called...Alice..." she said, she smirked. "Alice Cullen."

"Chere...y' might _jus'_ be sicker than _I _am."

* * *

~ End of Part One ~

If you enjoyed this piece of fanfiction, don't forget to leave your thoughts and comments by clicking the review button. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.

This story is dedicated to Alex, who has always been the greatest motivator of my writing and one of the best friends I've ever had.


	2. Part Two

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Two ~

~ The Wedding ~

* * *

The hotel room was empty when she returned back to the Honeymoon suite a little past four pm that day, the bellboy behind her laden with bags upon bags of items, including a brand new suitcase. She felt awkward when she realised she couldn't tip him, until she saw a few twenty dollar bills sitting on the table by the door and realised that her future 'husband' had indeed thought ahead. She grabbed a twenty and handed it to the boy, feeling the boy might just be a little overpaid.

"Thanks," she said as he placed down the items by the door, she watched him go and shut the door behind him, glad to be rid of him, glad to have just a few moments to herself. She laid the wedding dress in its bag upon the bed and sighed.

_Ah could just take off...go back to Bayville, pretend this never happened,_ she thought as she unzipped the bag and stared at the garment. It would feel awful wearing it again, it had felt uncomfortable enough picking it out in the store, and that was before she'd been railroaded into buying the matching basque for beneath it so she could try the thing on, and then been urged into buying stockings, the thong, and the garter...all of which, Remy LeBeau would _never_ see, she promised herself.

"This is sick," she muttered unhappily as she shook her head sadly at it. She had to dig through several bags to find the underwear, and she set it all out on the bed to change into before heading for the bathroom. She turned on the shower, all the while hoping that the shower cap would be big enough to allow for the elaborate updo that had eighty-three bobby-pins in it and a whole can of hairspray! She glanced at herself in the mirror and touched the side of her hair and heard it crunch and she didn't like this at all...it would be hell to wash out after the wedding.

After the wedding...it felt surreal. She was going to be _married. _She would be _Mrs. Remy LeBeau_ forever more...at least until the divorce. She carefully pulled the shower cap on, it just barely fit and no more. She tucked the left-out curls into it carefully and undressed quickly for the shower, hoping to god that Remy LeBeau would _not_ arrive back to the hotel to get changed. Where _would_ he get changed?

She showered speedily without trying to scrub _too_ much (the fake tan the girls at the beauty parlour had insisted upon would come off too easily with scrubbing) using the provided shower gel that smelled like Lily of the Valley, a little old-ladyish for her tastes. She returned to the bedroom wearing one of the fluffy white towels embroidered with the Hotel's logo, although there'd been a pair of robes hanging on the wall by the shower stall. Everything in the bedroom was as she'd left it, and she sighed as she began to struggle into the elaborate sequin and pearled basque, it sucked her stomach in so much she was sure it would crack a rib or two as she slipped the busks into place, and her bosom felt so pressed up that she was sure her bust would overflow from it at the slightest bounce. It took her several moments to understand how it went on – she'd tried to do it up from top to bottom, and bottom to top, this not working, until she realised that clasping the very top busk, and the very bottom busk, guaranteed that with a careful push on each side of the basque, all of the other busks would almost magically fall into place.

She glanced at herself in full length mirror in the corner after pulling on the stockings and the garter, the effect was – she was sure – not overly different from a very cheap and sleazy porn movie. She didn't even look like herself any more, with her face scrubbed fresh of dark makeup and her hair up in curls.

_I'll never forgive him for makin' me do this,_ she thought bitterly as she took the dress from the bag and climbed into it awkwardly; it should have taken more than one person to get her into the dress, and so it took a full twenty-five minutes for her to get it closed properly, and tightly latched into the basque so that it would not slip or become loose. _He owes me some very _huge_ favours_, Rogue decided as she glanced at the clock. Time had flown, and already it was almost five thirty. How had this happened so suddenly without warning? She sat down at the vanity, pulling out the designer makeups she'd been talked into buying, the pearly whites and creams, the soft pink lipsticks, the liquid eyeliner that had been the one purchase for herself. She worked carefully on her makeup.

_Authentic, it has to look authentic..._

She dabbed, dusted, swept and blotted, and realised she should have done the makeup _first _before dressing_._ Somehow she had been lucky enough to make it through the ordeal without staining or damaging her pristine silvery-white gown.

_It's not like getting ready to be married came with an instruction manual,_ she thought, rolling her eyes at herself, although she realised she should have planned logically how to get ready before rushing to do so.

What would the X-Men think of her...if they saw her like this, looking so...different? With her expertly applied professional spray tan, her virginal white dress, her shimmering makeup, her size zero-thanks-to-tight-underwear waist. What would _Wolverine_ say?

She sat upon the edge of the bed as she slipped into her shoes, and strapped them into place; she wanted to cry and she wasn't sure exactly what for...she didn't feel sad although not particularly happy either, and yet she felt utterly lost and childlike, caught in some strange new world and new position she should never have been put in. She glanced at her cellphone sitting on the nightstand; she should call...just let them know she was alright.

_No,_ she told herself firmly, she dabbed under her eyes with a tissue. _The note is enough, they won't be worried._

Would they be worried? She'd made it look as if she'd given the note she'd left a lot of thought, she'd signed it with _love_ from herself. _Need some time to clear my head, need to get away for a bit, don't worry, love Rogue._

They would worry, though...it was their way. And they already had tried to phone several times – which she had just avoided answering much to their displeasure (judging by the twenty-three text messages with questions like '_where the hell are you?'_ and '_you better get back here, the Professor is freaking')._

The room's phone rang suddenly, and she jumped and for one terrible moment, almost believed...truly believed...that the X-Men had located her, and were calling to beg her to come back. She picked up the phone and with a shaky breath, she said "H-h-hello?"

"This is the front desk, your limousine has arrived, mademoiselle..." it was the woman from the desk from earlier, Rogue recognised the voice, the upbeat tone. _Oh god, it's time already! It can't be after six already surely!_ She thought in panic as she glanced at the clock. It was...it was exactly twenty-minutes past six pm.

"Thanks...I'll be down in a moment..." Rogue said softly, then hung up, her hand shaking as she did so.

_Run, Rogue, run as _fast _as you can...don't marry this clown,_ she told herself as she pulled on her long satin gloves, the edges glimmering with pearls and sequins to match her beautiful gown. Nonetheless, she rushed over to the round box that she'd dumped on the floor upon arriving back earlier. The tiara, complete with the veil was inside, it glimmered like real diamonds as she turned it around in her hands.

_It's not too late to escape,_ she reminded herself as she stood at the mirror, putting the tiara into place, sliding the combs into her updo firmly, she shook the veil a little so it hung right.

_Remy is gonna laugh his ass off at me,_ she thought dully as she grabbed the small purse to match her dress, and ditched her phone and the hotel key card inside; she left the room and prepared herself, the sense that she was about to stand in front of a firing squad was all that filled her.

* * *

She felt the eyes of the hotel staff upon her as she left; and she'd been subject to having her photograph taken by the receptionist as she'd stood outside the limousine – an order no doubt from Remy just to provide more proof of the wedding.

The chapel wasn't – as Rogue had assumed – a cheesy establishment with Elvis impersonators, but rather a small place that inside, did indeed, look like a real church, pews of oak lining each side of the wall, a few people seated there already as she glanced in through the deep red velvet curtains to see if Remy had arrived yet.

He was there, alright, standing at the head of the aisle in a tuxedo, speaking quietly to the minister, who was dressed in a plain grey suit and looked dapper and somewhat regal. Rogue had butterflies in her stomach, she realised she had forgotten to buy a bouquet, but it didn't seem to matter...who would she throw it to?

"Miss Cullen?" asked a voice at her back, a young woman in a grey suit, looking prim and somewhat reserved.

Rogue almost asked 'who?' and then remembered her phony name, a character from a book she loved. "Yes..." she nodded.

"As soon as you're ready, I'll begin the music and you can march...are you alright, dear, you look a little queasy?"

"Cold feet," she swallowed. "Who are all the people in there?"

"Friends of the groom, I dare say...did you not invite anyone?"

"My...family didn't want me marryin' him...so...no one came..." she lied badly, but the woman did not seem to care.

"Don't worry; you're not alone," the woman promised. She reached out to put a hand on Rogue's shoulder and Rogue flinched away; she'd been doing this all day while shopping and having her hair done. She'd grown used to the excuse by now.

"Sorry, Ah have this...really weird skin condition...it's...really, really contagious..." Rogue explained in a fluster. _Yeah, REAL contagious,_ she thought.

"I see..." the woman seemed slightly alarm. "Are you ready to get married, dear?"

"No...but...lets have at it anyway..." she pulled her veil over her face.

The woman disappeared, and a moment later, the music on a slightly out of key organ began. Rogue winced; the woman returned and opened the curtain for her and she stepped through; Rogue was a vision in white in the chapel; she saw Remy turn around, and do a double take. She was sure he looked just as queasy as she felt. She marched slowly down the aisle, trying to time her footsteps to the music, and doing poorly at it, nearly tripping on her gown twice. She arrived at the small alter, trembling.

It was surprising how dapper Remy looked in his suit; like a different person! His hair was neatly combed and tied into a ponytail, he was cleanly shaven and smelled like designer cologne. Although he always had that confident expression on his face, she saw the anxiety just behind his eyes, he twitched slightly as he reached for her gloved hand.

Rogue didn't hear anything the minister said, she was so lost in everything, lost in wondering who the seven or eight people were sitting in the pews, wondering what Remy was thinking, wondering how long it would be before they could be divorced. Wasn't _anyone_ going to stand up and object and stop the wedding?

Even though it wasn't a real wedding, she wished the X-Men could be there, so she had support, someone to be there to tell her everything would be alright.

Would everything be alright? What would happen after they went back to that hotel room? What was the next step? How would everyone react to this sham of a marriage?

"The rings, please?" the minister said softly, and Rogue heard a soft footstep behind her and she glanced around to see one of the men who had been sitting in the pew holding a pink satin cushion with the two rings upon it...they were silver.

_No...white gold. Remy wouldn't marry me with _silver_ rings, _she thought as they reached out to retrieve their rings at the same moment. Their pinkies touched, and they both flinched, nervous, anxious.

They repeated their vows, Rogue couldn't remember what she said...all she knew was she accepted him as her husband, and that he had accepted to love and hold her forever...and then they were slipping rings on to each others fingers. The white gold glimmered over the satin of her glove, and looked right at home there, although it felt odd as it pressed on the fabric, slightly too tight.

One thing she had completely forgotten about was the kiss...there _had_ to be a kiss.

"You may now kiss the bride..."

She stared at him blankly from behind her veil; the marriage already would be a failure! Everyone would know!

Without warning he leaned in, placing his hand upon her waist and pressing his lips softly against hers, the shimmering fabric of the veil was enough to prevent their skin from touching, and her from absorbing his powers, she felt relieved, almost, and yet dumbfounded all the same.

_What if Ah hadn't worn a veil? What would he have done? _Rogue pondered.

There were cheers from the men in the pews, and she placed her hand against Remy's chest as she pulled back slightly, "who're they?" she whispered.

"Poker buddies..." he whispered back, "had t' have witnesses."

* * *

There was no reception...and Rogue had not wanted one, so for this she was thankful. However, she was dismayed when the 'poker buddies' of Remy's insisted upon them going to a club with them as their 'celebration' immediately after the posing for pictures by a chapel employed photographer had been and gone. At first, this had almost seemed like an alright idea until it had turned out to be the kind of club where women danced in cages, and spun around poles topless.

_That's right, guys,_ she thought at the 'poker buddies' disdainfully. _Lets make this even _more _awkward than it already is for the groom who definitely _won't_ be getting laid tonight._ They walked hand in hand, keeping up the charade of happy married couple, at the bar Remy ordered drinks, and she stood by him, trying to ignore staring at the perfectly tanned women with their perfectly toned bodies as they writhed and swayed beneath hot lights and glitter confetti.

Remy glanced at her apologetically as he waited to be given their drinks, and then they went to find a table somewhere away from the main 'attractions'. "Got t' say...didn't t'ink I'd be havin' my bachelor party _after _my weddin'..." he smirked as they sat down.

Rogue slipped in the booth, the seat slippery beneath her satin gown, she felt awkward and very much an obvious target for people to stare at. How many brides came into strip clubs for their wedding night?

"How do you feel?"

"Sick," she uttered, she accepted the drink and took a sip, she tasted the liquor at once and made a face. She hadn't realised it was champagne until she looked properly at the flute, and saw the strawberry that had been semi-split and pushed onto the rim.

"I'm sorry..." he said, "the girl at the bar insisted on champagne on the house when she saw it was my wedding day..."

"It's fine," she muttered. "I should celebrate. I'm a wifey now..." she frowned.

Remy bit into his strawberry, then took a sip of the champagne. His eyes roved over the various dancers, nearby a woman was upside down, holding onto a pole with her thighs, her chest seeming to defy gravity; Rogue saw the amusement in Remy's face as he watched.

"Fake," said Rogue, matter-of-factly. She sipped her drink again, although she wasn't fond of the taste.

"I know the difference between real and a pair of bolt-ons," Remy remarked, never taking his eyes away from the girl on the pole.

"I bet," Rogue stared down into her glass, she didn't find it mildly amusing or interesting watching the girl spinning around topless around the pole. It was embarrassing to women.

"The hang is never quite right..." he commented, he raised the glass to his lips. "Kinda harder, too. Real ones...way softer, more flexibility."

Rogue blinked, "sorry, did Ah actually give you _any _indication Ah wanted to discuss breasts?"

"Well..yeah...y' said 'fake', so I figured y' did."

"No. It was just a general observation."

"Yours are much nicer than hers, by the way," Remy commented casually.

How would he know, she wondered? She glanced down at her cleavage to make sure there was nothing popping out; everything seemed firmly in place.

"I mean, I ain't seen the whole _exhibit,_" Remy continued, "but by the looks of the programme, it's a display I wouldn't wanna turn down."

"Oh my _God,_ just _shut up!_" Rogue hissed.

"Okay," he chuckled.

"Ah wonder how many _newly weds_ come here immediately after their weddin'," Rogue rolled her eyes.

"More than y' would probably think," Remy admitted thoughtfully, "some ladies _like_ t' watch their men get lap dances."

"I'm not buyin' you a lap dance, LeBeau," Rogue downed the remaining champagne in her glass in one go.

"Maybe y' would like t' give me one y'self, then...I keep my hands to _myself,_ I promise," he wiggled his eyebrows.

Rogue had the feeling his words had another meaning; she didn't appreciate his humour, and she stood up. "This stopped bein' fun at 'I do'," she uttered. "I'll see you back at the hotel..."

"Oh, c'mon, chere, I was _kiddin',_" he took her wrist and stopped her from leaving the table. "Sit down..."

"No...it's fine," Rogue broke her arm free from his grip, "stay. Have some lap dances, have a ball. Accordin' to you, this will be the only time you ever marry so...enjoy the only bachelor party you're ever gonna have," she turned to leave him, the words "Have fun" were the last she offered him before she exited the club entirely.

Outside, the air was hot and thick, and the rush of people moving along the street almost overwhelmed her. She felt a hand on her elbow, and she turned to find Remy there. She hadn't thought for a second he would follow her, but there he was, his eyes apologetic, his jaw set.

"I'm sorry," he said. "Here you are doin' this _really important_ thing for me...and I'm bein' a _jackass._"

Rogue folded her arms, she said nothing, just stared at him, his eyes reflected the glare from the overhead canopy and it's many glimmering chaser lights.

"Lets...go to dinner...somewhere really fancy..." he offered.

"No thanks, Ah'm tired...Ah just wanna go to sleep."

"C'mon, this our _weddin'_ night. We all dressed up t' the _nines,_ lets go eat in style."

* * *

Eating in _style_ cost forty dollars a course, and Rogue wasn't sure why Remy was insisting on this pretentious overpriced food that barely came in a portion size large enough to last four bites. But the food was delicious regardless of the lack of portion, and Rogue ate through each tiny course hungrily, trying to hide the fact that after each, she was still left feeling empty bellied and yearning for more.

They spoke of very little, other than how nice the food was, the flavours, the presentation, as if they knew anything of the way food should taste or be presented at all. But it was something to fill the silence with in between the bites.

When dessert came, it looked superb, his some kind of cheesecake that was perfectly square with edible gold leaf adorning it, and fresh berries dusted in sugar to accompany it. Hers was a chocolate mouse that came in several layers, each one more delicious than before. They sipped the best wine the establishment had to offer, and Remy sat there talking with the waiter in his well-practised French accent each time a new course came up, acting as if he understood about fine wines and dining...he played the part well, as if he were a snobbish older man and this were his favourite table in his favourite extravagant restaurant.

Rogue sipped her wine thoughtfully as she watched him eating delicately at his dessert, the slim fork sliding down into the thick creamy cake then being raised to meet with his lips. "You do this all the time, don't you?" she asked suddenly, her head was swimming as she said it.

He raised his eyes as if she didn't know what she was talking about, expression just momentarily blank enough, then suddenly all _too_ knowing. He looked so dapper sitting there in his tuxedo, his face so clean shaven, his hair so neat, his expression so intense. "What d' y' mean?" he asked, his broken speech always seemed to kill the illusion of his charm faster than salt kills a slug.

"I mean this..." she gestured to him donning the black well cut tuxedo, she brought her hand away from her mouth in a motion for speaking. "Pretendin' to be someone else..."

"It's part of what I do...as a t'ief," he sipped his wine with an elegant air about him, for one moment she might have believed him from money, well versed in the etiquette and art of fine dining.

"And people just _believe _you," Rogue admonished, "it shocks me...I don't know _how _you do it..."

He popped a berry into his mouth, the juice from it staining his full lips, "t' do it right, first y' gotta be able t' _read _people," he said.

"What difference does that make?" Rogue asked, she dug her spoon into her chocolate mouse and took it into her mouth, the velvety sweetness seemed to flood her mouth and overwhelm the taste of the wine, which she found unpleasant but had been drinking merely to keep up appearances.

"The waiter," said Remy, he dabbed his napkin to his lips. "His shoes are scuffed – he been drawin' over the scrapes with magic marker..."

"So?" Rogue asked.

"Look at his face," Remy nodded to across the room of well dressed diners, the waiter was behind the bar uncorking a bottle of wine.

Rogue was unable to read him, he looked like any other twenty old man in Vegas might have looked. The average half-decent looking man that worked as a waiter.

"I see him as a guy who workin' his way through college, scuffed shoes mean they either second hand or he's had them a while and can't afford a new pair. He knows a little French, and knows about wine...he also knew more about food than the normal waiter does..." Remy pointed out. "If y' ask me...I'd say waiter is workin' here t' pay for culinary school..."

"He's a _waiter, _of course he's gonna know about food," Rogue rolled her eyes.

Remy finished his glass of wine, and signalled for the waiter to approach. The young man, with his black hair slicked back neatly and his eyes slightly tired, stepped over, back straight. "Yes, sir?"

"May I have another glass, s'il vous plait?"

"Would sir rather have a bottle?" the waiter asked.

"No, it would be such a waste of a whole bottle...my new wife," he pretended to whisper, "she's a cheap date."

The waiter smiled just a little, yet seemed apologetic when Rogue was offended by the comment, "right away sir."

"Kevin," said Remy, glancing at the waiters name tag, "are you by chance...a chef in training?"

The waiter looked astounded, "yes sir...how...?"

Remy glanced at the boys hand, "when you brought us our plates...I noticed the scar on your hand, looks like a nasty cut you maybe got while cutting towards you," his French accent was flawless, Rogue forced her own glass to her lips to keep from smirking.

"That's exactly how it happened, sir," Kevin, the waiter replied. "Will that be all?"

"Bring my wife another glass, too, and we'll have the bill along with that."

As Kevin, the waiter, disappeared to get the drinks and the bill, Remy grinned at Rogue smugly.

"Okay, so you're good at seeing things that aren't obvious," Rogue rolled her eyes.

"They're obvious, y' just gotta look, is all," Remy took another berry from his plate, "y' like raspberries?"

"Not really," Rogue made a face, "I'm not really a big fan of fruit..."

"Another thing I've learned 'bout you," he noted. "You are, however, a lover of chocolate," he said.

"It's okay," Rogue shrugged. She did love chocolate, she didn't want to admit the dessert was the most delicious thing she'd ever tasted in her life.

"Chocolate is one of life's pleasures, y'know," Remy admitted. "y'know it's a _stimulant_..."

Rogue raised an eyebrow at him.

"Alot of people think that chocolate sets off the same pleasure signals y' brain gets when y' have sex...that's why women liken enjoying chocolate to having sex...so I hear, anyway."

"If you say so," her cheeks reddened and she hoped her makeup hid it. However he seemed to note it far more quickly.

"I'm serious," he said.

"Ah'm sorry...I've eaten tons of chocolate...and never known that to be true."

"You just ain' eatin' the right chocolate..." he smirked.

Her head was swimming badly now, and she put down her glass, feeling as if she may slip out of the chair at any given moment.

Remy pulled his chair around the table a little, he picked the small triangle of chocolate from her plate that had been a decoration ontop of the mousse pot, "open your mouth..." he instructed.

"Stop bein' dumb," she shoved him weakly.

"C'mon, open wide..." he spoke to her as if she were a child.

She went to say something, but he popped it into her mouth somehow never letting his fingers brush her lips.

"Don't chew it..." he warned, "just...let it sit on your tongue...don't swallow, don't bite...just let it dissolve..."

She did as she was told.

"Now close y' eyes," he instructed, "and just focus on the _sensation_ of that..."

It was grainy...and somewhat bitter...it was dark chocolate, which she'd never been overly fond of. But a certain sweetness seemed to follow it, and the taste of it seemed to seep across her tongue as it melted with the heat of her mouth. Her eyes closed, she wondered what his expression was like as he watched her. Was he making fun?

"Jus' meltin' that little piece on your tongue...chocolate swirling around your mouth...increases your heart rate...faster than it goes...when you kiss someone passionately..." he whispered near her ear, his breath hot. "And that why...chocolate is like sex."

"Are you drunk?" she asked as she opened her eyes, she steadied herself, feeling even more unbalanced than before and she wondered if her chair had a leg that was unlevelwith the rest.

Remy was looking closely at her, she realised his hand was upon her gloved wrist, his breath smelled of sweet wine and berries.

"Are you?" he asked.

"Course I'm not," she answered confidently; she couldn't be, could she? She still felt quite in control of her thoughts and feelings...she'd always heard drunk people didn't have that capacity.

"I t'ink y' jus' might be..." he admitted.

"Why?"

"'Cause your hand is in my lap."

"Oh god," she said, pulling back suddenly and embarrassedly, she knocked her glass over, luckily it was too drained to spill much on the pristine table cloth. "I didn't know!"

He laughed, "Like I said...y' drunk..." he recomposed himself as the waiter came came with their last glasses of wine on a silver tray, the bill in one hand, the tray balanced on the other.

"Merci, Kevin," said Remy, he nodded appreciatively; he tipped the boy before letting him go off. Rogue thought Remy was far too generous with money, but she supposed it wasn't as if money would ever be a problem for a professional thief. Handing out money left and right to him was probably akin to people handing out candy at Halloween.

Rogue looked at the final glass. "I don't think I should drink that..."

"I think y' should...just for _once_ let yourself enjoy _something_," he requested.

As she raised the glass to her lips, she new it would probably be a mistake.

* * *

The streets felt as if they might be the waves of water beneath Rogue's feet, and she felt as if she were swimming along rather than walking along, holding onto Remy's arm for support. Where was the Limo? Had he sent it away? She couldn't remember now...she couldn't even remember him paying the restaurant before they'd left. Had he paid?

What a strange pair they must have looked, Rogue thought, the bride and groom walking along the busy streets of Vegas, her in her bare feet, Remy carrying her shoes in a free hand. The bright lights of the signs and Casino logos were dazzling, and seemed to glare like the sun from certain angles sending rainbow flares across her vision. She held onto Remy's arm and tried to walk straight, somehow she kept veering to the left. Why was her balance to compromised...it was as if someone had perhaps taken a good six or seen inches away from her left leg making her wobble with every step.

"Y' okay, chere?" Remy asked, he stopped for a moment to look at her.

"Fine," she lied.

"Where we goin'?"

"There's this club...thought it might amuse you to go there...it's not far."

"A club?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

"Just a place I thought you'd get a kick out of."

It seemed they walked for twenty minutes, her barefoot on the pavement. She was sure her stockings would be ripped to shreds now, not that it mattered. "Hold on," she said, stopping him in the middle of the street. She held onto his shoulder as she pulled up the skirt of her dress to her thigh to unhook her stocking and take it off...she did the same with the other, and she tossed them into a trash bin. A few of the people on the street looked at her curiously, it only made her laugh.

"Silk stockings, eh?" he said, impressed. "I'm guessin' though...I was never meant t' _see_ those."

"They're ruined, now. No point in keepin' them on," she shrugged.

"Is there a garter too?" he asked.

She glanced to the stockings hanging from the trashbin on the pavement...there was no garter attached to either...so it had to still be there. How it had skipped getting pulled off, Rogue was unsure. "I think so."

"Can I be the one to take _that_ off?" he asked hopefully, "it's _old_ tradition, y'know...for the husband to remove the garter."

"Whatever," Rogue uttered, rolling her eyes at him. She accepted her shoes back from him and slipped them on, oddly they felt more comfortable without the stockings making them slip about on her feet. She took Remy's arm again and they walked together, her balance having improved a little by the time they arrived at the destination Remy had chosen.

He showed some identification to get in, he had her new one too, she only saw it briefly and wondered where he had got the picture for it. She let this go, for now, and she followed him down a wide stairwell with tiny lights lining the edge of each step in turn. It seemed to go on forever as they travelled downwards...then finally, she saw the bottom...a shining black floor with a red carpet led through to two sunburst patterned doors and she walked slightly ahead of Remy, feeling his hand at the small of her back as he led her through.

The music seemed to blast at them as they entered; the sound of a brass band mingled with low bass and a smooth soulful voice of a man impersonating an old crooner in a tux, swinging the microphone stand as if it might have been a dance partner.

Rogue stared at the place, not sure if it was a joke or if she was just hallucinating she'd dropped herself into the days of big band and old songs that had become legend.

"It's fun here, I assure you," Remy let a waitress lead them to a table and he ordered more drinks after they were seated. Rogue stared up at the stage, the velvet curtains, the band stand, the silver shimmer of the microphone. It was all very grand and over-exaggerated; there were people dancing together over a ballroom floor under lights that were simple but elegant, in longer gowns that reminded her of more elegant prom dresses, their hair high with fascinators and elaborate clasps. The men were in an array of tuxedo colours that were impressive and tacky at the same time.

Rogue smirked just a little in spite of herself, "What is this place?"

"It's called 'The Pat Rack," he smirked, drumming his fingers in time to the beat of the music.

"The Pat Rack?"

"You don't get it?" Remy asked.

"No."

"Ever heard of the _The Rat Pack_?"

"No."

"Never mind," he shook his head.

"So who's this lamo supposed to be?" Rogue gestured to the stage.

"Frank Sinatra," said Remy, "y' don't like old time music?"

"You _do?"_

"It's catchy."

"If you say so..."

Their drinks arrived and they listened to the music, Remy seemed amused, Rogue didn't feel amused at all.

"I'm sorry, I thought you might like seeing a glimpse of the _old_ Vegas style entertainment..."

"It's fine," she said, "at least it's not a strip club," she noted, remembering their first venue.

He gave a soft laugh and sipped his drink; it was a cocktail this time. She was sure he shouldn't have been mixing drinks, but she wasn't all that sure she really cared. She herself had mixed...her cocktail now was more palatable than the wine and the champagne, and so she gulped it down.

"Y' might wanna slow down with that..." he warned.

"Just 'cause you're my _husband_ now, don't mean you can _tell _me what to do," Rogue reminded pointedly.

"It was more a general suggestion than a command,"he assured. "If y' think y' can handle it though..." he stood up, "anyway, c'mon...lets dance."

"Ah can't dance to _that_..."

"Sure y' can. It's fun. C'mon."

She let him drag her out there; perhaps it was just the alcohol that left her feeling so weak and reluctant to argue with him. They stayed off to the edge of the dance floor away from every one else just to be sure the other dancers were safe from her exposed flesh. Remy led her hand to his shoulder, "Just follow me," he instructed.

Rogue gave an unsure nod as she placed her other hand in his and felt his arm wrap around her waist. She tried her best, but she felt her feet crush his toes on more than one occasion. The music was hard to follow, she was used to dancing to a faster beat and trying to find the right rhythm to _I Guess I'll Have to Dream The Rest. _The music left her feeling sleepy and contented though, and she couldn't deny the singer had a certain charm about his voice that lulled her into a comfortable state enough to let Remy pull her just a little closer.

_I can see that your heart has gone astray_

_As for me, I'll love you the same old way_

_I guess I'll have to dream the rest_

_There'll be no Friends waiting to throw shoes and rice_

_Those heavenly moments may never come twice_

_I'm thankful for the hours you blessed_

_I guess I'll have to dream the rest_

_I guess I'll have to dream...the rest..._

She let her cheek rest upon his shoulder, even on into the faster felt him pull her just a little closer, his cheek was resting upon the veil that covered her hair. The music went on, the songs kept ending, new ones began.

_Fairy tales can come true...it can happen to you_

_If you're young at heart..._

_For it's hard you will find to be narrow of mind_

_If you're young at heart..._

_You can go to extremes with impossible schemes_

_You can laugh when your dreams fall apart at the seams..._

She closed her eyes and just tried to focus on nothing else but the music, trying to forget how sleepy she felt, and how full of good food, chocolate and wine she was. For a moment, she was a fairy princess in a fairy tale with a handsome prince in a love story on a big screen.

It was perhaps Remy's unhappy sigh that broke the fantasy; she pulled back a little to look at him. He said nothing and pretended as if it hadn't been him at all who'd sighed by just looking around the room in an eager fashion as if he were taking the whole room in again and again like it had been his first time there.

She tried to continue dancing after this, but the spell was lifted, and she was free. She stopped, pulling back from him, "Ah'm feelin' pretty tired..." she admitted. Not to mention her head felt as if it were rocking from side to side even when she was standing stationary.

"Already? Maybe y' can't handle the drink as much as y' thought..." he sighed, "well, all right...lets go see if we can catch a cab."

* * *

~ End of Part Two ~

Thanks to those who have reviewed the first part! I appreciate those who have taken their time to review.

More to come soon :)


	3. Part Three

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Three ~

~ Honeymoon ~

* * *

It was odd, going back to the hotel together at two in the morning; it had rained on the walk to the end of the street to catch a cab, and Rogue could already practically feel her makeup running down her face, and her hair falling out of place. She didn't care any more, though. The feeling of being off balance, of being drunk, was more important right now, and that as she stood in the elevator with Remy LeBeau, her mind was full of questions, of silly thoughts, and of weird scenarios.

The elevator was slow going up; Rogue stood with her back against the wall, clutching her purse and shoes, bare toes pointed towards each other on the tiled elevator floor.

"Y' been awful quiet since we left the club," Remy noted, he had his tuxedo jacket slung over one shoulder, his hair was soaked from the rain, his shirt too.

"Jus' tired is all," she answered feebly.

"Y' okay?"

"I'm fine," she answered. She wasn't sure if it were a lie or not. She felt it had to be exhaustion, her sleep had been so interrupted since the beginning of this rather odd adventure that it seemed the answer that her strange mood was due to exhaustion and nothing else.

As the entered their hotel suite, Remy switched their lights on, the room was tidy, maid service had made sure of that. Someone had thought to put champagne on ice in a bucket, although the ice had mostly melted by now. The bed was strewn in red rose petals. Rogue sighed inwardly as she walked along the carpet in her are feet to drop her shoes by the bed. Without saying anything, she made her way to the dresser and sat upon the seat, slipping off at first.

"Y' okay, chere?"

"No," she muttered, "Y' know, as a _boy_, you' re never gonna understand how _hard_ it is to sit on _anything _smooth in a _dress _made of satin."

He raised an eyebrow, "a _boy_?" he asked, he sounded somewhat insulted, "I haven't been a _boy_ since I was thirteen..."

"Get a grip," Rogue pulled herself up off the floor, she found it difficult to do this in her uncomfortable underwear. "What, you think just 'cause your _voice_ changes it suddenly makes you a _man_?"

"It wasn't my _voice_ changin' that made me a man," he hung the Tuxedo jacket over the edge of a chair by the wall and unbuttoned his shirt.

Rogue suddenly understood exactly what he meant, and it caught her somewhere between sickened and intrigued, "Wait...you're tellin' me that...you..." she trailed off, "at thirteen?"

"I was always a lil' ahead of myself," he shrugged out of the wet shirt; beneath, his white tanktop was only slightly damp from the rain. "T' be honest, wish I hadn't...it was jus'...all wrong...people are right, y'know. At that age, y' just not prepared t' be doin' that stuff the way it's meant to be done," he admitted; he swept his hand along the bed and made the rose petals rain upon the floor.

Rogue sat at the vanity careful not to slide off this time; she looked at herself in the mirror and distantly murmured, "Ah...wouldn't know." She stared into space, only vaguely seeing her reflection, only vaguely aware he could see her from where he was as he stretched out over the double bed.

"If t'ings had been diff'rent..." he began.

"Don't...Ah don't wanna hear about how things _could be _different," she momentarily glanced down at her ring before she slipped off and placed it upon the dresser: she removed each glove and unceremoniously tossed them both to the floor where her shoes were lying.

He folded his arms in front of him, and let his cheek rest against them. "They all lie, y'know...when they go on about it...bein' this...life alterin' thing that connects y' to somethin' much deeper...y' don't _feel _love when y' do it."

She looked down at her bare hands, the fake tan had gathered into the wrinkles of her fingers, and the texture of her slightly dry knuckles.

"It's just...an act. This...needy, desperate, uncomfortable act...there's nothin' beautiful or sentimental about it...it's just about get'n off and that's _it._"

She began to pull the bobby pins out of her hair one by one, dropping them into a pile on the vanity, each one making a soft chinking sound as it hit the rest.

"People confuse lust and love..." he uttered as he stood up and moved slowly to the sliding doors; he pulled them open and glanced out onto the balcony, the cool breeze flowing in stirred his damp brown hair. "And truthfully...y' don' really need either of em...they jus'...complicate t'ings."

Rogue raised her eyes to look at his profile, he looked distant. "The girl you were _supposed_ to marry?" she asked.

"She was the first..." he frowned a little. "She been infatuated wit' me ever since...it diff'rent for guys...it ain' about bridgin' this...emotional gap...it's about get'n laid. Pure and _simple._"

It was a horrible way to put it, Rogue thought, but he was probably being entirely honest for maybe the first time ever in his life. Things were different between men and women, and he made no apologies about the things he'd done, it seemed.

She sucked in a breath, still dropping more pins onto the vanity, "Ah'll never have to _worry_ about it," she said coolly, she tried to make it sound as if she didn't care, but it stung as she said it. The curls in her hair began to fall, her hair was neither shape nor form anymore, and the rest of the pins began to fall out as her hair became even more loose out of the updo.

"Y' will, one day...y' ain' gonna be stuck in this situation forever..."

"Sure Ah am," she combed her fingers through her hair, it was becoming matted, and there were pins she couldn't even find now. "That's why you married _me_ and not some random girl. It can't _go anywhere_ with me. Simple as that."

"I wasn't lyin' when I told y' why it _had _t' be you," he watched her, then sighed and moved behind her to help her find the pins. "Y' won't complicate it for me...'cause we're enemies."

"Are we enemies any more?" she asked dully. "We haven't really been on opposite sides in a while," she reminded. "We get _along._"

"We're still not on the same wavelength," he picked the pins out carefully, trying not to touch her scalp in the process, he tossed the pins to the vanity as he did so. He combed his fingers through her brown and white hair, finding the last of them and removing them. "Y'know...I know I didn't _say_ it...but...y' looked...beautiful...when y' walked down that aisle."

"Shut up," she muttered, she moved away and went to the pile of shopping bags in the corner, she began to search for her the pyjamas she'd bought.

"I mean it," he said, he sounded sad about it, "y' looked like a real woman...not like the same lil' girl I tricked in t' helpin' me rescue my asshole of a so-called father..."

She turned to stare at him, the thought of her being a _real_ woman was odd. Could she _be_ a real woman? Could she _grow up_ without ever touching people? She'd always somehow imagined herself frozen at eighteen, not a girl, not quite a grown up yet.

"I know jus' by the look on your face that...it hurt you when I said it..." he sighed, "I jus' wanted y' t' know that...y' are...a beautiful young woman..." he sighed, "and I'm not usin' a _line_ on you or anything else...I jus'...felt y' should know."

She couldn't find a response to say to him that wouldn't hurt...no response that wouldn't instigate an argument, and so she simply retrieved the pyjamas from one of the bags, "Ah need to get changed," she said.

"Y' need any help?" he asked.

Her mouth dropped and she raised an eyebrow.

"I mean...there's like a hundred hooks at the back of that dress...it must have taken you a while to get _into_ it...if you need help...I'm not tryin' t' be...perverse...I jus' don' wanna be unhelpful if it's gonna take y' a while to get out of it..."

"Ah'll be fine..." she headed towards the bathroom, quite aware his eyes were on her until the wall was between them both. She glanced at herself in the mirror above the sink, her makeup had started to smudge a little, and her fake tan had begun to rub off on the dress, all she wanted to do was scrub the fake tan off and be back to her normal pale self again. She glanced at the sunken bath and noted the two bottles of complimentary bubble bath.

"Ah'm gonna take a bath," she warned, "and there's no door, so stay _well_ away!" she warned.

"I will," he said from the bedroom; she heard the television going on and the channels being changed. She began to draw herself a bath, and poured in both the small complimentary bubble baths deciding to be decadent and self-indulgent for at least once in her life.

As the faucet ran, she tried to unclasp the hooks, but she couldn't seem to pull them apart enough to get them open. It dawned on her that perhaps that the intense July heat might have made her body swell so much that the fabric was being pulled too tightly for her to get out of it. She grunted as she tried with difficulty to get any of the hooks out of the eyelets; the fabric refused to give, and every hook remained in place perfectly.

"You okay in there?" she heard him call over the sounds of what seemed to be a sports game of some description.

She felt like sobbing, "Ah can't get out of the goddamn dress!"

"What?"

She was crumpled up on the floor with her toulle all around her, the outer skirt of the dress bunched feeling like tears were about to spill; her eyes raised up to see Remy standing at the open doorway, his expression slightly perplexed although there was a tiny glint of amusement in those onyx eyes of his.

"Ah told you to stay in there!" she warned.

"Sorry..." he shrugged, "what's wrong with the dress? You got _into_ it, so you must be able to get out of it..."

"Ah think Ah got swelled up in the heat! Ah can't pull the edges in enough to unhook them," she groaned, "and it's _really_ startin' to hurt me...there's this thing on underneath that has metal wires in it and it's _really _diggin' in now..."

He excused himself momentarily, leaving her wondering what it was that he intended to do. When he returned to the bathroom a minute later with a letter opener in hand, she gaped at him in shock.

"What are you gonna do with _that?_"

"Turn around..." he instructed as he grabbed a towel.

"What's that for?" she asked.

"Just turn around already. Y' do want to get out of this t'ing, right?" he asked as he placed the towel on her shoulder and braced his left hand there firmly, he turned her around as much as he could, and guided her to lean over.

She bit her lip and held her breath in tight as she felt the cold of the blade slide between the basque and the dress; the point slightly pushed into her but didn't cut, however she winced just the same.

"Stay still," he instructed and he gave a sharp tug on the blade; the delicate fabric ripped rather loudly, and the lining, which was nylon and had much more elasticity, loosened at the top of her back, giving her a little more room to breathe. Remy let go of her shoulder, gripped both edges of the dress from behind and ripped it hard; Rogue heard the loud shrrrrrrrrrrripppppp, and she felt the pressure only slightly easing off her back.

"The lace on your corset got loose..." he pointed out, "which made your body bigger which means the dress got tighter..."

"I did the laces as tightly as Ah could – it took me twenty-minutes to get into this thing," she fumed.

"Why didn't you get a dress in your size?"

"The girls in the wedding dress store made me get it," she muttered, she stood up, her sides ached from the basque and the pressure it was putting on her ribs.

"Don't be such a pushover," he suggested.

"Shut up."

The front of her dress came down as she took a slight step forward and the skirt slipped down slightly past her hips leaving her in nothing but the basque and the toulle. Her eyes caught Remy's reflection in the mirror only briefly, and she realised in horror he was looking at _hers_; glancing at the front of the basque, the intricate embroidered sequin and pearled design scrolling along the satin, and more interestingly, the way it pushed her bosom up like the world's most effective balconette bra.

"Get out!" she yelled at him suddenly, her temper flaring.

Remy shook himself to reality and turned, "enjoy your...bath," he said, he left the room slowly, once glancing over his shoulder to examine her for the last time.

* * *

The water in the bubble bath was too hot, but she liked it that way despite the heat and despite the sweat was pouring from her face; the spray tan was beginning to come off almost as if it were melting like a layer of wax upon her pale flesh. The bubbles, fluffy and cloud like, enveloped her so much that only her head stuck out of a mountain of them, and she lay thinking of the mistake she'd made and how things would only get worse from here.

She glanced at the remains of her now ruined wedding dress and couldn't help but think it was somewhat appropriate it was destroyed...only bad things could come from now on, she was positive of it, and the dress was proof of that.

In the bedroom she could hear the television and wondered what he was watching; he'd switched it to some sitcom, but she couldn't quite make out the dialogue from where she was; all she could hear was the canned and phony laughter.

"Gambit?" she asked.

"Mmmm?"

"C'mere..."

She pulled her knees up to her chest, and made sure the bubbles were covering every inch of her that he might have otherwise seen.

"Help me get this crap off my back," she inclined her head to gesture to behind her shoulder.

He nodded, looking exhausted and like a man who was struggling not to try and see through the thick foam that was all that provided her any modesty. He picked up the complimentary loofah and moved behind her, sitting at the bottom of the sunken bath, he dipped the loofah in the water and began to gently scrub her back with it. "Surprised y' let them put that stuff on you," he confessed, his voice quiet.

"It was either that or my skin was gonna be _whiter_ than the dress,_" _she reminded. "Ah probably looked like an orange in a veil walkin' down that aisle."

"Y' looked stunnin'...and not orange at all," he promised.

She leaned forward more, and hoped he couldn't see down through the back of the bubbles; she felt incredibly self-conscious...it was the most naked she'd ever been in front of any man, even if she was completely covered.

Remy seemed to sense the shyness, and a tiny smile played about his smug lips, "Don' feel so...shy...we're married now," he reminded.

"Yeah...right," she muttered.

"I'm serious...there probably gon' be some point in the next few month we'll...see each other naked...when y' share a room, it bound t' happen..."

"Share a..." she trailed off.

"Well...yeah, I mean...when we get back to my home...we gonna have to share a room...how else can we pull off bein' married?"

"Oh..." she said. How had this not occurred to her? How had she not thought ahead on this?

"So we should jus' get it over with..."

"In your dreams, gumbo," she growled.

He chuckled, soft and sincere. "Y'know...if I take this deodorant can here...and spray it..." he began.

Rogue knew exactly what happened if you happened to spray an aerosol towards bubbles...they disappeared, and rather quickly too. "Don't you dare!"

"I'm jus' messin," he promised, dipping the loofah back into the water, then running it across her back.

Rogue let her chin rest upon her knees, "how are your family gonna react to...this?" she asked. "Us, bein' married Ah mean..."

"Lotsa angry yellin' most likely," he admitted. "First they'll wan' know if you're _pregnant, _most likely. If anythin'...they gonna ask jus' _how much_ y' know about me."

"Ah know plenty," she reminded.

"Not everythin'," he scrubbed a little harder at her neck. "Chere, jus' cause you saw a few things from my head don' mean y' know me..."

"Well how much _don't_ I know?" she queried.

"Maybe one day y' find out," he dropped the loofah into the water at her back, "traditionally though, the honeymoon ain't the night you spend learnin' about each other," he reminded.

"I guess not..." Rogue hugged her knees closer to her chest. He was right, of course. It was the kind of night people spent making love, not falling in love.

Where had that thought _come_ from? Falling in love? Why had she thought that? She pushed the thought aside rather quickly and sighed to herself.

"What's wrong?" Remy asked.

"Just so tired," she wiped her face tiredly, "it's been a long day."

"Yeah. But we can sleep in tomorrow. We'll get a later flight out."

"Short honeymoon."

He hesitated at her back; he shifted to come to the side of the bath to look at her. "If you _want_ a long honeymoon...I mean...we can _postpone _goin' back for a while. Least maybe another day or two."

She laughed bitterly, "It's a fake wedding, why do we need a _real_ honeymoon? Besides, you're running out of time."

Remy sighed, "I suppose you're right. But..." he paused to think, "maybe after my family have got the message...me and you can go...have a real honeymoon...go somewhere fun, do stuff, go...surfing or on a cruise...I owe you something for your troubles."

"It doesn't matter," Rogue replied.

"Does to me," Remy admitted, his expression was mixed, somewhere between sadness and anger.

"Why?"

After a moment, he said tenderly, "'cause this will be the _only_ marriage I ever have. Just 'cause it's fake doesn't mean it can't be _special._"

"That's _exactly_ what it means," Rogue remarked.

"Says who? _We_ make the rules, not society or anyone else. No one said this can't be _fun_."

"It doesn't _feel_ like fun, Remy, it feels like _work._"

"It's a little bit of _both. _In a few months it'll all be over, and then I'll be in Bayville with _you. _But until _then_, why does it have to be _completely_ miserable? Who says we can't _enjoy_ this?"

Rogue had no answer, for she was sure that if she answered, he would only argue the point further. If he wanted to play this game, she'd let him. For _now._

"I guess I should go make up the couch," he said, he glanced towards the bedroom, his eyes clouded over. "Unless..."

"No! You're not sharing the bed."

"It's a king sized bed."

"You said you would take the couch," Rogue reminded, "but if you want the bed, _fine._ I'll take the couch..."

"No...no, that's...that's okay," he pulled himself up, using the towel rail to give him a little leverage. "I'll take the couch. Enjoy the rest of your bath and rest easy, I'm gonna go take a walk, see if there's somewhere open I can grab some smokes."

As she watched him leave, she felt just a little guilty. Here he was paying for a beautiful suite and she was kicking him to the couch so she could take a king sized bed all to herself. She chewed her lip and as she heard the door shut behind him as he left the suite, she sighed to herself, trying to ignore the headache she was concerned may be the beginnings of her first hangover.

_I'll let him have the bed,_ she thought. _I'll take the couch tonight._

* * *

When Remy LeBeau came through the door of the suite, it was five am. He sort of burst in, tripping over his own feet and falling to his knees drunkenly which was what had awakened Rogue so abruptly.

She'd waited and waited for him to return, hoping that he had remembered to take the key card to get back in. When four am had finally come and he still hadn't returned, she'd felt sleepy and had settled on the couch to watch television. His return had been a very rude awakening.

"Remy, what the..." she said unhappily with a yawn as she stood up, he was trying to get up from the floor and making a very bad job of it.

"I tripped," he laughed. "Sorry...I was just-"

Her eyes caught the shade of red and the shade of pink – the two lipstick marks on him, one on his jaw just above his neck, and the other just on his cheekbone. Why this upset her, she wasn't exactly sure. "Where _were_ you?"

"Out for cigarettes," he said, he allowed her to help her up from the floor, he gripped onto her shoulder awkwardly; his weight felt heavy and clumsy as he held onto her.

As close as he was, she could smell the beer on his breath; perfume too and _not_ the perfume she happened to have been wearing during the wedding. Over his tanktop he'd pulled on that ugly brown trechcoat of his and it smelled like smoke and cheap booze. Where _had _he been exactly?

"Did you go to a bar?" she asked, fuming.

"I was out for cigarettes," he reiterated, fell backwards, throwing them both into the wall behind.

"Oh my _god,_ you're totally drunk," she admonished.

"Just a few beers, that's all," he laughed; he seemed instantly regretful that he had laughed, his face seemed to pale immediately, and he looked sick.

Her headache had just resurfaced the moment she had awakened – a definite hangover from all the wine, she gathered – but now it was pounding at the thought of how she was supposed to get him sober enough in a few hours to get ready to catch a plane to Louisana.

"You have lipstick all over you..." Rogue dragged him over to the bed and let him go, practically dropping him halfway onto it so that he nearly slipped off and just managed to catch himself on one of the bed posts.

"The waitresses were generous."

"You went back to one of those stupid strip bars, didn't you...?" Rogue frowned.

"It's my _wedding_ night," he sighed as he kicked his shoes off, "I just-"

"I knew this was a mistake."

"Why are you so _mad?_" he sat up awkwardly, "this _all_ pretend, y' don' even _like me, _let alone _love_ me."

Rogue folded her arms as she stared down at him, "and that's the way _you_ wanted it."

"So what, I went to a strip club...I got a few lapdances...big whoop..."

"You could have been a bit more goddamn _discrete_ about it though!"

"I didn't think you'd _care_. We're _supposed_ to be friends."

She laughed bitterly, "Friends! Hah! No, because of you we're not _friends_, anymore. We're goddamn _husband and wife._"

Rogue wasn't sure why she felt so furious with him. She wasn't even sure it was justified to be mad at him for this. The marriage was a sham, they weren't in love, and he'd gotten a little free spirited and gone to a nudey bar, it surely wasn't the end of the world.

So why did it feel like a bigger deal than it should have been?

He blew his hair out of his face with a furious breath, "_make_ y' goddamn mind up, Rogue, or Mrs. Alice Cullen LeBeau or whatever the fuck y' wanna be called!" he yelled suddenly, each word slurred together, his eyes unfocused. "Do y' wanna _pretend_ or do you wanna _not. _Can't have this _both_ ways!"

She threw her hands up in the air frustratedly, "I don't know what the hell you're _talkin'_ about! This is _all_ meant to be pretend, you jackass! But goin' around getting lap dances on your _wedding_ night while your _wife_ is sitting in the honeymoon suite alone...tell me how _that_ is going to prove that we're _really_ married if one of your _witnesses_ happened to see any of it!"

His face darkened, "y' don' _get_ it!"

"What! What don't I _get?_" she demanded.

He stood up, stumbling slightly, he held himself up with the bed post, he pointed a finger into her face menacingly. "I _married _you...I got married t' _you_ and I never _should_ have...it was _hard _t' watch you walk down that aisle..." he gestured wildly. "Watchin' y' walk down that aisle _lookin'_ like the way I pictured it and _not_ bein' able t' touch you!"

Her eyes welled, she pursed her lips, her stomach knotting; her head was thumping now as she struggled to hold back the want to cry.

"Y' were right! Okay? I thought this was gon' be _easy_ 'cause I _knew_ there would be no complication 'cause I _knew_ I couldn't touch you! I didn't think I would _wanna!"_

She looked away from him, her eyes glistening, she tried to let her face remain like stone.

"But it was _so_ perfect!" he cried, "for a minute _I_ was fooled...for a minute I thought..._maybe _that this was somethin' more...but it was just this huge...spell...I was weavin' a spell to try and convince everyone _else_ I love you..."

Rogue couldn't bare to face him.

"And I fooled myself."

"You're drunk," she muttered, a tear sliding down her cheek, she turned to look at him, tried to maintain her anger so that she wouldn't break down. "You're gonna go to sleep, you're gonna wake up in the morning, throw up or do whatever the hell it is you do to to get over a hangover, and then, we're going to the Big Easy before you get your goddamn throat slit over a stupid family feud," she shoved him.

At her shove, he landed on the bed, sitting, his arms dropped, his head low.

"Ah'll _play_ wifey like a good little girl," she warned, "but after Ah'm done and Ah leave...don't even think about comin' to the X-Men for sanctuary. Ah'm _through_ with you and your goddamn games. Ah knew it was a mistake to come here with you, and against my better judgement Ah did _anyway, _because Ah didn't want to see _anything_ happen to you!"

He frowned, but said nothing, he didn't even raise his eyes to her.

"Go to sleep, LeBeau. In the morning, everything will be all hunky dory, don't worry, Ah won't bring this up again," she remarked as she headed for the couch. As she lay down, knowing the back of the couch would shield her from being seen, she broke down and wept silently, cursing this as the biggest mistake in her life she had ever made.

* * *

Remy LeBeau woke up with the worst hangover he'd ever had in his relatively young life. He was over the covers, still dressed, wearing his trench coat and completely confused about why he was wearing it in the first place – especially to bed.

As he sat up, the world seemed to spin, his throat dry, his head swimming as he tried to massage away the thumping that had started just behind his tired eyes. He couldn't remember much about the night before, at least to a degree. His eyes fell on his wedding ring; he remembered that much...getting married to Rogue. That was something he _wouldn't_ forget in a hurry. But the rest of the night's events seemed cloudy in his mind. Dinner? Yes, there had been dinner...and dancing...he was sure of that. But...what then?

He had no time to consider anything else, the first wave of nausea came suddenly and without, what he felt, any warning. He jumped from the bed, tripping on one of his shoes, and staggered to the bathroom, making it to the porcelain throne just in time. Wave upon wave of it seemed to come, more than he'd thought could possibly be in his stomach; the smell atrocious, the taste foul, his stomach contracted with each retch and it hurt.

It must have went on for five minutes, thirty seconds between each wave and then the next one would hit. _Why did I get this drunk? Why?_

Remy heard the patting of footsteps at his back; still hanging onto the toilet for dear life, he turned awkwardly to look over his shoulder at Rogue; she was standing wearing pyjamas, her hair mussed and unbrushed, pushed up at one side from the way she'd been sleeping.

Rogue said nothing as she stood there looking at him; she seemed to have no sympathy in her eyes or her expression. Her face was stony, unreadable.

"What did we do last night...?" he groaned.

She folded her arms, "don't you remember?" Why did she look so upset? Why was her expression so...strange.

"No..." he groaned, a wave of sick came back up and he turned just in time to let it out.

There was something oddly hesitant about the way she answered. "We had a little too much to drink...and you passed out."

"Oh..." that made sense. But why was he wearing his trench coat? Where was the tuxedo jacket? Where was the shirt.

"You need to pull yourself together, LeBeau. We have a plane to catch."

He'd forgotten about the plane. He'd forgotten about everything; his head was spinning so badly he couldn't think straight. "What time is it?"

"Eleven," Rogue replied, she stepped in to the bathroom and she pulled the door of the large shower stall open, leaned inside to turn the water on and then ducked out, "take a shower," she commanded. "Ah'm gonna go phone up some room service and get some black coffee for you."

He nodded weakly, his stomach in agony; he felt an uncomfortable warm dampness between his legs and realised that with the spasms his body had been in during the throwing up, he'd urinated unwillingly too.

"Do you have fresh clothes?" Rogue asked.

"Fuck..." he muttered, "no. I don't. I left my other clothes in the tuxedo store."

"Oh my _god, _Remy. How could you _not_ have spare clothes..."

"I wasn't thinking, I was so caught up in trying to get you that-" he paused because for a moment he thought he was going to throw up again. "That stupid fake I.D.."

"Oh," she said, folding her arms.

"I can't wear these pants today..." he said, he glanced down at them; the damp patch was noticeable, and there was no way she hadn't seen this.

"Ah still have your gold card from yesterday. Ah'll go pick out something for you in the mens store across the street while you take a shower and finish hurling."

He nodded, glad that at least he could count on her to not mention the fact that he'd pissed his pants. He was sure she would bring it up later at some point, but for now she was letting it slide without bringing any more attention upon it.

"What else do you need?"

"Shoes..."

"Your size?"

"Ten," he replied. For a moment, he'd struggled to remember his own shoe size. It seemed terribly wrong that something as simple could be thoroughly confusing. God, why did he feel so tired still? He didn't want to go home...all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep.

"Okay...Ah'll be back in like, Ah dunno, an hour."

He had no answer, but he waved awkwardly while trying to bring up the last of what he was sure in his stomach, while at the same time mentally cursing himself for being so stupid.

* * *

Rogue returned from the store across the street laden with bags and a brand new small suitcase. As she dumped the items on the bed unceremoniously, she listened for any noise coming from the bathroom. The shower was on, she could hear the water rushing, patting off the tiles.

"Remy, Ah'm back!" she called out as she smoothed back her hair from her face; the sound of her own voice even made her own head hurt but she tried to ignore it. She glanced in the mirror at the dresser; her face was still warm with the colour of the fake tan which still partly lingered on her normally pale flesh. Her green eyes seemed dull and tired, there were circles beneath her eyes and there was dry skin on her eyelids, the makeup she'd bought had disagreed with her skin, she was sure she even felt a pimple coming up on her chin.

Pushing aside her anxiety that her face felt like it was about to break out from an allergic reaction or possibly from stress, she began to set the clothes she'd chosen for him out on the bed. A dark grey t-shirt with a band logo, a pair of faded jeans, a navy blue hooded sweatshirt, and some underwear, socks, and a brand new pair of sneakers.

"Remy? You hear me?" she called.

When he didn't answer, she glanced towards the open door into the bathroom. Was he alright? Had he passed out? Was he still throwing up? She didn't hear anything other than the water.

"Remy?"

Finally, curiosity defeated her, and she walked over to the door, cautiously glancing around the corner of the door in case he was about to catch her. At first, she didn't see him there at all, because he wasn't standing up in the shower. It took a good second glance to determine where he was; he was sitting on the floor of the large shower stall, curled up against the cool tiles, his eyes closed, his mouth hanging open.

"Remy!"

His eyes snapped open, and he looked around himself, for a moment confused, his eyelashes spiky, his hair plastered to his head. "Oh...sorry..." he sighed.

"This isn't the time to fall asleep," she fumed.

"Sorry...my head is so sore...I had t' close my eyes for jus' a moment," he stood up awkwardly, still in something of a drunken tired stagger as he moved to meet the shower head.

"For a minute I thought you'd _fallen_ and hit your head or something," she confessed uneasily as she averted her eyes from him, "I brought you clothes," she said.

"Merci," he replied, leaning forwards to duck his head under the water, she peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes; was that a tattoo on his hip? She turned her eyes away again, her whole body heating with the embarrassment of doing so.

"Ah'll go set them out for you while you get clean," she said, glad of any reason to leave the bathroom at that exact moment. However before she could get a foot over the door, he spoke.

"D' y' happen to have any aspirin?" he asked.

"Ah got some at the drug store in the hotel," she answered. She'd stopped there on her way in, her headache had refused to go away and she'd needed something to help ease that pain – she hadn't even had the chance to take some herself. "I got you some deodorant. I hope Lynx is okay, I don't know what you usually use."

"That's sweet o' you, wifey."

"Don't call me that," Rogue frowned.

"Hand me a towel," he requested, sliding the door open and holding an arm out as he turned the water off.

She glanced around and looked for a towel, she located one on a rail on the wall by the shower, and she grabbed it to hand it to him. "How you feelin' anyway?"

"Like a Lady GaGa music video. Overplayed and dirty," he pulled the towel around his waist and stepped out of the shower.

Rogue glared at him; could he really remember nothing of his behaviour? Or was it simply that he was playing the game like she'd suggested he do just to avoid the awkwardness and arguments? Although she was glaring at him angrily, he was rubbing his head, seemingly oblivious to it.

"I've never thrown up like that in my _life_," he uttered. "I think I chucked up a lung."

"Wouldn't be surprised," Rogue grumbled as she left the bathroom, he followed her and she was very aware of the space being close between them. "Clothes on the bed," she gestured.

He walked over to examine the articles of clothing, "would you look at this..." he picked up the boxer shorts. "Little lovehearts..." his voice sounded dry and sore from the excessive vomiting.

"They were on sale..."

"Want me to model them for you?" he waved them in front of his groin suggestively.

"No thank you," she went to the dresser and sat down.

"You sure?"

"Pretty much positive."

"I guess this means...the honeymoon period is well and truly over," he grimaced; she saw his expression in the mirror as she tried to fix her hair; it was still slightly fluffy from being washed and styled without a hair dryer.

Rogue said nothing, she didn't want to start arguments with him, she was too tired for this. She just wanted to get out of the hotel, see this agreement through and then go back home far away from Remy LeBeau and all thoughts of marriage. In the mirror, she saw him whip his towel off and she tried to focus on her hair instead of him as he dried himself off with the towel.

"Why can't you do that in the bathroom?"

"Does it matter? Doesn't even have a door," he shrugged, "besides..." he stood, nude and somewhat weakly beaming. "Y' were the one t' walk in on _me_," he reminded. "I thought y' didn' mind."

"Of course Ah mind. Put that thing away."

He laughed, but then looked regretful of this and put his hand to his head and rubbed while he spoke. "Y'know...we're married now, it's _okay_ to look."

"No, it's not. Your body is your business, and my body is _mine. _There doesn't need to be any looking," Rogue glanced down at her hand, she could see the lump beneath her glove where the engagement ring sat upon her ring finger. Married or not, she wasn't interested in getting an eyeful of what seemed to be Remy's pride and joy. "And stop playing this 'we're married now' card. It doesn't change _anything_. We're just two people who know each other."

Remy sat upon the bed, he rubbed his head again; she watched him closely in the mirror, he looked tired and pale, and not at all like his usual self. Even his teasing seemed incredibly half-hearted and not at all as playful as usual.

Sighing, she stood up and went to the bag of things she'd bought from the drug store, she brought out the box of aspirin and she moved over to hand them to him. She made sure to focus on his face, avoid looking any further down. She wasn't ready to see that part of him yet, she doubted she ever would be.

He looked at her hand, his expression undecided, and as he reached for the small box, he caught her hand in his. "Y' still...the only wife I'm _ever_ gon' have, y'know. Whether we're jus' people who know each other...or not."

She gave an ironic laugh, "you don't know that you won't get married again. No one does."

"I know it," he assured as he took the box from her, he looked down at it, popping it open to take out the tray of pills. His brow furrowed, she could see a vein on his temple, it looked angry and sore; she could almost see it throbbing.

Tentatively, she reached out to brush her gloved hand against his temple, to trace the vein to his hair. His eyes raised up to hers, why did he look so...hopeful? He raised his hand cupped hers against his hair, he closed his eyes and his expression softened...he seemed almost...relieved.

And then, the moment faded. She thought of his words early that morning before he'd passed out on the bed, and it made her suddenly look away from him and drop her hand. His eyes opened and she felt him stare at her as she moved away from him. "Get dressed...we can't sit around here all day wastin' time," she said softly.

"Okay," he said quietly. He left the room quietly with the clothes in his arms, and went to the bathroom to change. Something was different about him now...he was hurt...she'd wounded him somehow and she wasn't exactly sure how she'd done it without saying a word.

* * *

~ End of Part Three ~

Thanks to everyone for their reviews. I appreciate them very much. Big shout to my Lovemuffin!


	4. Part Four

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Four ~

~ Home ~

* * *

The plane ride was uncomfortable; they'd arrived late and been reprimanded by the airline staff when their baggage had to be checked. Then for some reason, the first class tickets Remy thought he had booked had been mistaken by an incompetent trainee for tickets in coach. Rogue ended up sitting next to an old man who smelled vaguely of urine, and directly in front of a child who liked to kick her seat.

It didn't seem to matter that Remy's seat was in between a large and overbearing woman who did nothing but complain, and a pre-teen brat who kept yelling at his mother across the aisle. Most of Remy's time in the plane was spent in the bathroom throwing up much to the disdain of several passengers and flight attendants.

Rogue was glad to get off the plane and had somehow managed to get an hours sleep during the flight although she felt none the better for it. As she and Remy left the airport together – after an hour of waiting for baggage that had somehow gotten mislaid – they walked to the parking lot together; she found it hard to hide her surprise when he led her to a sage green car that seemed older than both of their ages combined.

Remy unlocked trunk to toss their suitcases in; Rogue bent over to glance inside at the long leather bench seat in the front, the slim steering wheel, the old fashioned gear stick.

"What _is_ this?" she asked in wonderment. "Is this foreign?"

"I guess you could say that," Remy leaned against the trunk casually, "it's a 1956 Ford Zodiac. I won it in a poker game in France from a guy who called himself 'Jack the Lad'. He got it in England when they first came out."

Although the car was old, and there were general signs of wear and tear in various placess, it was still in nice condition for being over fifty years old. Somehow, the car seemed to suit Remy LeBeau tremendously, although she couldn't pinpoint why.

"Here," he slipped the keys out of his pocket and tossed them to her, "you better drive, seein' as how my blood alcohol is probably still a lil' bit higher than the legal limit. I'll just give directions."

It felt odd to be sitting in the wrong side of the car, the right rather than the left. Being right handed, she found it awkward to reach for the gear stick on the left of her, and as she glanced down to the peddles, she found there were three where she was used to only ever seeing two.

"Ain't y' ever driven a manual transmission?" Remy queried.

"Of course I have," she replied. Lies. She'd never attempted to drive anything other than an automatic. It had never crossed her mind that one day she might actually be behind the wheel of a manual.

Remy raised an eyebrow, "do I need to teach you?"

"Uhm..." she chewed the inside of her cheek, "No, I mean...I've seen _Logan_ do this a dozen times..."

"Clutch before you shift," he instructed. "Break gently but if you don't use the clutch before grinding to a stop, you'll stall it," he touched the dash fondly. "_Don't_ corner it with the clutch down or you'll go flying around the corner and end up tipping it," he warned.

She listened, trying to take all this in. "And...the clutch is."

"Peddle, far left."

It took several attempts to get the car started and moving while learning about clutch control and the gas.

"Balancing, Chere," he explained, holding her hand to the gear stick, "this is all about balance..." his voice was soft, she could see that his head was still throbbing just by his pained expression.

Balance was all very well and good if you had more than ten minutes to learn how to drive a manual transmission. For the most part, she was following instructions while he moved her hand on the gear, up down, right and up, down, and back to left. She yearned for an automatic.

They drove for some time, first through New Orleans, and then further on until they were passing through long lonely country roads, swamps on either side, winding through tangled trees deeply green. Rogue had forgotten how beautiful the south could be...and how much she missed it.

"There's some more stuff we should discuss before we get to the house," Remy admitted in between his instructions.

"Such as?" she asked, keeping a firm eye on the road, although there didn't seem to be any cars for miles, and nothing to pose a threat to her questionable driving.

"How we're gonna go about this," he explained. "Little things we should do to _be_ convincing."

"Okay," she nodded. "Like what?"

"First of all," Remy began, "if we're in front of my family at _any_ time, make sure you're at least close by me or got your hands on me or somethin'...they'll take _note_ of that. Newly weds aren't the kind of people who keep their hands well away from each other. Don't be shy...grab my ass, hold onto my arm, my waist, whatever works, but _don't_ keep your distance. It'll seem suspicious."

She rolled her eyes at this.

"Second," he rolled the window down to let some of the stifling heat out. "My birthday is on the first of November. I'm a Scorpio. Don't forget that. A wife would know her husband's birthday."

"Right," she nodded. First of November. Easy to remember."

"Third. I drink coffee black, no sugar, no milk. I take tea with sugar, and no milk."

"Okay."

"How about you?"

"Coffee with cream _and_ sugar. I hate tea. _Hate _it. I don't mind hot chocolate."

"Good to know."

"What about alcohol?" she queried. "I've seen you drink wine and champagne...but what else?"

"Beer – but the good stuff, the exotic ones. And I like scotch...my favourite brand is Famous Grouse, I could drink that stuff by the barrel."

"Okay."

"_Fourth_," he began. "I have a scar on my left testicle from when I was fourteen and was climbing on a scaffold and slipped."

She wrinkled her nose, "What has _that_ got to do with anything?"

He snorted, "you'd be surprised," he tapped his fingers absently on the door of the car. "If you and I are _intimate_, then that's something you'd have _at least_ noticed if you'd gotten a good enough look. People who are lovers _notice_ things about each other, scars, moles, birthmarks," he explained. "It's _important. _And if Jean-Luc _tries_ to catch you out...you'll need to be able to answer fast...think on your feet."

"Okay, so scar on your left plum, tattoo on your right hip."

"Good eye," he noted. "What's the tattoo of?" he made a point of asking.

She frowned. Why hadn't she taken note of what it was? She'd certainly seen it but that was as far as her interest had been. "Okay, I give. What is it?"

"See how easy it is to show how you _don't_ know my body. Anyone could tell you'd never looked at me properly naked or otherwise."

"Okay...so what is it, already?"

"It's a spade and a heart," he replied.

"What does _that_ mean?"

"Doesn't matter; they don't even know," he answered quickly. "_Fifth_," he counted this off on his pinky, "I've _never_ had a serious girlfriend – at least not one that _counts_; they'll try to press you about how _long_ we've been serious, you tell them we've been off and on for _years_ and you _forced_ me to make a commitment. They'll believe that."

"Anything else."

"Yes. _Sixth._ I can speak French, a little bit of Spanish, a little bit of Italian – badly – and I speak a little Russian."

"Seriously?" she blinked.

"Yes," he said honestly. "Seventh. I never finished high school. I failed almost every subject _except _math and French. I also fucked my ninth grade teacher in a janitors closet during Lunch break..."

"That I _didn't_ need to know."

"They'll expect me to have told you these things. They'll try to _shock_ you with revelations, and they'll know by the disgust or reaction on your _face_ how you feel about me and if you're not convincingly upset enough, or angry enough, this won't work."

"So...is there anything I should know about this girl you were supposed to marry?" Rogue asked, her eyes steady on the road, she felt every single bump under the poor suspension of the car. "The girl I was supposed to marry..." he began. "She's was the first."

Rogue turned to look at him briefly, "the first...?"

"The first girl I ever fucked."

Rogue wasn't sure why this bothered her so much, she was only aware that it did.

"I was thirteen," he said dully. "She was twelve. We had this _awkward_ fumbling in the back seat of an abandoned Chevy in a junk yard...wasn't exactly the best experience of my life," he sighed deeply, pressing his fingers into his temples to try and massage away his hangover headache.

"So..." she turned the car slowly around a wide bend, the car was now on a dirt road, nothing else for what seemed to be miles except more swamp. "That was the only time you ever had anything to do with her?"

"No," he answered, "we had on and off flings up untilI was sixteen," he chewed the inside of his cheek, "I...used to think I loved her..." he frowned. "Nearly started a guild war just to be near her..."

"Ah thought you said you'd never had a _serious_ girlfriend."

"Not one that counts," he stated. "It wasn't serious. It was on and off, like I said. If it'd been serious, I woulda made more effort."

"So...what happened?"

"She started getting really clingy...one night we were fooling around and she told me to go bareback..."

"Bareback?" Rogue raised an eyebrow.

"You know...fuck without...protection..."

Her cheeks flushed. _Why does he have to be so vulgar?_

"But I wouldn't...'cause...well...we were real young anyway and I didn't wanna risk something stupid like a pregnancy. But after she _kept_ suggesting _every _time we were getting it on, I figured out she was _tryin'_ to get pregnant."

"To trap you?"

"At that point, think she'd have done about anything to make sure I didn't cheat on her...and she was so convinced I was."

"Were you?"

"There were these couple of totally _harmless_ times I went to parties and got hit on...kissed...but nothing _extreme_."

Rogue winced; it was something she hadn't wanted to know.

"She found out about it...and even though I said I was sorry – _and I was_ – she wanted to make sure I wouldn't stray. After I figured out what she was tryin' to do, I didn't wanna be with her anymore...and we broke up on what I suppose you could call _mutual terms._"

"Mutual terms?"

"I said I think we should see other people, she said '_fuck you',_ so...yeah...mutual terms."

"But she still wants to marry you," Rogue sighed.

"Two years later, the girl is still obsessed. She's had a lot of bad relationships in the past few years...all of them went wrong."

"But now she wants you again."

"She tried to be my _friend_, and she'd even thrown me a couple of casual bangs into the bargain with the promise that it's just a one off...but last month when Jean-Luc told me about this arranged marriage, I knew she was at her old tricks again. I'd had letters...text messages...phone calls from her, tellin' me how much she loves me and can't wait 'til we get married...I can't deal with that...I just can't _be_ in that kind of clingy relationship. If I married her...I'd never be free..."

Rogue wondered how in love the girl had to be with him to go to such extremes to try to get pregnant let alone anything else. Could anyone love Remy LeBeau that much? Despite not knowing the girl, she had to feel just a little bit sorry for her nonetheless.

"Just a little further," Remy gestured. "We're nearly there."

She'd never seen Remy's home, only the home of his enemies, and so it surprised her when they were pulling outside of what looked to be a dilapidated old plantation house, shutters hanging off, dull and begging to be painted, one window broken and taped up with a cardboard egg crate. As they left the car, Rogue's stomach was in knots she felt sick.

Remy reached for her hand and clasped it tightly in his, he seemed to be more nervous than she was. "Here goes nothin'."

* * *

The hallway of the LeBeau house was silent and mostly bare; a few floorboards were loose and damaged, the newel post at the bottom of the stairs had been half-destroyed, the top of it splintered and dangerous looking. The plaster on the walls was cracked, one door hung off it's hinge.

Rogue gripped onto Remy's hand, she held her breath – was that urine she could smell?

"Sorry," he said quietly, "my brother owns two cats he won't clean up after..."

Rogue suddenly understood why the boy had never really wanted to come home – why he didn't miss it here. She glanced at him, her expression soft as he looked around.

"Just the way I left it," he admitted, he set his jaw.

"It's...homey," she lied.

There was a clatter of what sounded like tin cans hitting the floor come from the end of the hall, and the door opened, it too was slightly off it's hinge and hung awkwardly as it swung. Jean-Luc LeBeau looked more gaunt than Rogue remembered him.

"Where the _fuck_ you been?" Jean-Luc demanded drunkly, he staggered a little to the side, banging his arm on the door frame.

"Does it matter?" Remy asked, holding onto Rogue's hand, he pulled her closer. "I'm back, ain't I?"

"Belle been lookin' for you _every day_," Jean-Luc slurred.

"Too bad for her," Remy said.

"Who this?" Jean-Luc gestured to Rogue, his expression full of annoyance tainted with a hint of confusion. Rogue could tell just by his yellowing eyes that he was an alcoholic.

"Don't act the fool, Jean-Luc. You know who this is, you've met her."

"Oh right...the girl...with the crazy powers..." Jean-Luc smirked, "Remy's little friend."

"Remy's _little wife,_" Remy corrected quickly.

Jean-Luc's face became oddly pale despite his deep tan. "What?"

"This is my _wife,_ Jean-Luc," Remy held his hand up to show his wedding ring, "we got married months ago."

Rogue turned to look at him oddly, what was he talking about?

"Y' lyin'," Jean-Luc seemed to know at once. "You ain' married. I woulda _known."_

_"_We were _married_ before I even brought her here the _first_ time. She didn't want _anyone_ knowin' and neither did I. Wasn't anyone else's business."

"You're _lyin',_" Jean-Luc spat as he approached.

"He's not lyin'," Rogue spoke up, her voice didn't seem loud enough. "We are married."

"I don't believe you..."

"When we get unpacked I'll show you the marriage license," Remy dared.

Jean-Luc scoffed. "Yeah, you do that."

"Fine," Remy rolled his eyes. He put his arm around Rogue's back, "chere, let me show you to our room..."

"Oh, right..." she nodded. Somehow she'd expected this confrontation with his father to be a little longer; was Remy avoiding him? She wouldn't have blamed him if so. Remy guided her up the stairs, walking slowly with his arm behind her; she was very aware of Jean-Luc staring behind them...even without looking at him she could tell the man was fuming.

"They turned at the top of the stairs. The bedroom door to Remy's room didn't match the others; it was a steel door which bore very many dents a couple of feet up from the floor. Rogue raised an eyebrow as Remy took keys out from his pocket, sorted through them then unlocked the door and moved aside to let her in first.

"The door?" she asked as she entered the room looking behind her to see him.

"Yeah, it's sometimes necessary," he replied as he followed her in and closed it behind him; behind the door there was a deadbolt and a long sliding latch.

"Seriously..." Rogue raised an eyebrow, "that's...crazy."

"If he chases me up the stairs, he usually don't make it here before I do. He'll generally kick the door or punch it before getting pissed off and leavin' it."

"He could pick the lock..." Rogue suggested.

"Too much trouble for that lazy bum," Remy replied. "No one bother breaking in here, nothin' to steal."

Rogue turned to glance around Remy's bedroom, an odd sense of awe filling her as her eyes carried across the large room. It wasn't much to look at; a single bed, unmade from the last time Remy had stayed, the sheets beige, a brown plaid blanket, wrinkled and old looking. The walls were cracked, it looked as if someone had tried to repair the walls a few times but had been unsuccessful and just finally painted over the cracks in a milky coffee colour to hide as much as possible. A large old fashioned dresser stood against one wall, against another a desk and a chair. No clutter, no nothing. Did he _own_ anything to clutter with?

Remy wandered over to the large window to the back of the room, he struggled to pull the latch lock open, and push it up; the frame rattled a little, dust fell from the ceiling when the window slammed up against the frame.

It was a dump, and Rogue was incredibly aware it was a dump. Why were they living like this? They were _thieves, _there must have been money for repairs, and new furniture and nicer surroundings. Somehow she'd always imagined Remy's house to be old and grand, fancy, luxurious, the way she'd expected a thief to live.

"It's a shithole," he said as he sat on the edge of the bed, his expression gloomy, "I know."

"It's not...a shithole," she chewed the inside of her cheek, "it's just...not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" he asked, he picked up a pillow from the bed and yanked the pillow case off, tossing it to the dusty floor.

Rogue hovered, her hands in the pockets of her jeans, "Ah...didn't expect anything..." she confessed, "Just...not this."

"Yeah well, whenever there's money here it gets spent pretty quickly. No one ever wanted to _upgrade_ the family home." Remy uttered miserably, he tossed the pillow towards her, "put that up on the dresser," he instructed.

Rogue held the bare pillow for a moment as she watched him stripping the other of the case.

"The bed is gon' have to do until I can get us a double," he said quietly, "at least for appearances," he whispered, barely audible. He stood and stripped the bed of sheets and blankets, tossing them on the floor with the pillow cases. "I'll wash all this."

Her heart felt like it was sinking as she looked around the room once again while he went about turning the mattress over. The room just felt so...bleak...like an empty motel room. No posters, no belongings...no personal little items around. He barely ever stayed here...she could feel it just by standing there. How could a room like this ever feel like home to anyone?

Remy gathered up all the bedding in his arms, he stood holding it, his eyes caught hers. "You don' wanna be here, do you..." he said softly.

"Ah..." she looked back at him.

"I'm sorry," he averted his eyes from hers. "I should have...I should have made better plans..." he shook his head. "Wait up here," he instructed, "I'll be back with the luggage."

As he left the door open upon his departure, she felt like running to escape this. She glanced towards the open window and wondered how far the drop was; if she could make it down without hurting herself...was there something to climb down with?

_Oh, Rogue...What have you gotten yourself into? _She wondered. In her hip pocket her cellphone was vibrating, she'd turned the ringer off two days ago. She pulled the phone out of her pocket to see that it was Logan's number displayed on the screen. She sighed and considered answering it. Considered begging him to come and get her...take her away from this.

The phone was about to die, she needed to get the charger out of her luggage. It had been one of the only necessities she had brought with her at the beginning of the trip other than the phone itself.

She sat upon the bed, phone turning around in her hands, the vibration angry against her fingers. What would they all be thinking of her now, for having taken off in such a way? It wouldn't be long before they traced her. She was going to have to tell them at some point.

_Just not yet,_ she thought. _Just _not _yet._

* * *

She'd been alone in the room for almost twenty minutes when the yelling had begun; she'd at first tried not to hear a word of it but that was almost impossible given that he'd left the door open, and that Jean-Luc had a bad temper and a voice that carried.

_"What the fuck you think you're playin' at! In two days you're supposed to be marryin' Bella Donna! We spent all month plannin' this shit!"_

Rogue winced at the sound of Jean-Luc's voice and she glanced at Remy's single bed. She supposed she would be sleeping here while he slept on the floor. There definitely wasn't enough room for two people here unless they were uncomfortably close and she was positive she didn't want to be _that_ close with Remy LeBeau after his behaviour on their wedding night, even if she _did_ feel sorry for him.

"_I told you I couldn't marry Belle. None of y'all wanted t' listen to me though, did you?" _Remy was yelling. "_Y' just all went on as usual, everyt'ing had t' be your way. Well y' too late. Y' were too late months ago. Y' want to see the marriage license? Well here it goddamn is!"_

Curiously, Rogue got up from the bed and walked over to the open door to listen more closely, she leaned against the door frame. There was a good moment or so of silence.

"_This say y' married her in March!"_

_"That's right."_

Rogue was surprised at this. How did he pull off that? Who had he paid to forge the license? Why hadn't Remy told her he was going to do this? She wondered how she was supposed to play newly wed if they were supposed to have been married for nearly five months.

_"Where she been all this goddamn time?"_

_"I fucked up...she found some stuff about this other girl I supposedly fucked...and she left me, took me a while t' find her and even _longer_ t' apologise and win her back. That's why I _left_. T' bring her back!"_

_"You're lyin', goddamnit! You wouldn't have married her...y' never wanted t' marry _anyone!_" _Jean-Luc was yelling.

Remy's voice was a little more quiet, a little more reserved; Rogue could tell he was holding back all he could to prevent himself from getting mad. _"We _are_ married. I can show you the pics from our wedding if you like. I can show you the DVD too."_

Rogue wondered when he'd retrieved all these things then it occurred to her that he'd picked up a package at the hotel reception she'd never questioned. The chapel must have recorded and photographed the whole event and sent it over for him.

_"Why her? Why not Bella Donna? God y' spent enough time screamin' y' head off when we tried to stop y' from seein' that little slut back a few years ago...now y' runnin off t' marry the next available t'ing with a pussy?"_

_"Don't talk about her that way!"_

Rogue stepped out into the hall, she glanced over the banister to see them arguing in the hall; Remy's face was red, she'd never seen him look so mad. His hands were trembling as he held them at his sides.

"She pregnant?" was Jean-Luc's query next.

"Don't make assumptions like that. It ain't like that!"

_He's pissed,_ Rogue thought to herself as she stood listening.

"Y' don' expect me to believe y' actually _care_ about this one, do y', Remy?" asked Jean-Luc, he gave a bitter laugh. "She like every other girl y' brought through here. Just t' pass the _time._"

"She _is_ different," Remy took a deep breath and exhaled hard through his nose, Rogue could see his mouth was pursed hard shut as he tried to calm himself down.

"She's a mutant, that's the only difference here, son."

"I love her."

Rogue gripped the bannister hard at his words.

"Ain't a girl on _Earth_ made me feel quite like _she_ does. I'd walk over hot _coals_ to be with her."

"And yet y' married her in secret!" Jean-Luc swung at Remy; Remy just barely ducked it.

"Oh, y' woulda been there at the wedding, Jean-Luc, if y' hadn't been caught stealin' from one of the Assassins targets and left t' stew tied up in their basement."

"This is a _sham_, I don't believe for a second that y' married that girl," Jean-Luc gestured wildly.

"I married her. I love her. We're only stayin' here 'til I find an apartment for us then we're moving out of this hellhole. Then y' can go about your business, drinkin' y' self unconscious every day."

"Y' never gonna make it past the door if Marius find out y' won' be marryin' his daughter."

"Y' had _no right_ t' arrange this marriage. I told you that. Y' went ahead anyway, it be on y' own head. I point Marius right in _your_ direction, _father._"

Rogue gripped the banister harder. Would the story of this wedding having happened months ago be enough to stop the Assassins from coming to get Remy? Or would this break down to a fight that _could_ end in death?

She didn't want to think about it, the thought that Remy may be hurt left a horrible taste in her mouth and she took a deep breath and spoke; the argument she could not take any longer. "Remy, chere..." she leaned over the bannister, "is everythin' alright?"

"Everything is jus' peachy, ma cherie," he glanced up at her; even from so far up she could see the stress in his expression, the strained look that made every muscle in his face seem tense.

Jean-Luc glanced between them both; his expression said he didn't believe a word of the marriage, didn't believe the proof Remy had showed him.

"You comin' up?" she asked softly, she tried to honey her tone, leave it suggestive and charming, make it sound as if she _did_ love him. For a moment, there was just a tiny hint of confusion in his expression.

"Yes...of course..." he nodded. He grabbed the two small suitcases she'd bought in Vegas in his one hand; Rogue saw the marriage license in the other. He made his way up the stairs slowly, Jean-Luc watching his every move.

Rogue waited for him to arrive at the top of the hall where she stood and, knowing that his adoptive father was watching, she grabbed a hold of the waistband of his jeans, simultaneously unbuttoning as she pulled him into the room. "C'mon. Y' kept me waitin' long enough."

The move seemed to surprise Remy as much as it did Jean-Luc. Rogue kicked the door shut behind Remy and let go of him. "Your daddy is crazy," she muttered quietly.

"No shit," he muttered, he dropped the luggage, he reached down to button up his jeans again before turning to lock the door. "Y' shouldn't have done that..." he gestured to his jeans. "He gon' be up here in a minute listenin'...tryin' to prove we ain' married..." he whispered.

Rogue cursed her stupidity. "Ah'm sorry...Ah didn't know what else to do!"

"I know y' were just tryin' t' help," Remy pressed his cheek against the door and listened, "Yeah...can hear him...comin' up the stairs..." he whispered. "Moan...moan real loud."

"What?" she asked.

Remy grabbed for her arm and twisted it hard.

"Owwaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!" she cried out as he let go. "What the fuck? That hurt!" she mouthed.

"He listenin'!" Remy hissed at her ear as he passed by her, he moved to the desk and gestured for her to come over; she followed him in confusion and gasped as he grabbed her by the waist and forced her to sit on the desk; he braced one foot on the uneven edge of the desk and started rattling it.

She gaped at him, her cheeks grew hot at the thought of having to put on an audible show for his father; she stared at Remy LeBeau as he tossed his head back and moaned realistically.

As realistic as it sounded, she wanted to laugh and she had to stifle her mouth with her jacket sleeve to stop from doing so. He glanced at her desperately, throwing his hand up as if to ask what the hell she thought she was doing.

Rogue shook her head, her eyes glimmering with tears of laughter as she held her wrist to her mouth tightly to stop from laughing hysterically. The situation was just too funny despite the seriousness should the act be discovered as fake.

"Ohhhhhhhhh yeah," he moaned again, he gestured for her to join in with the act, she shook her head again, the threat of a laugh trying to escape from her mouth. He smacked her shoulder gently. "Cut it out!" he whispered.

"Ah can't help it!" she whispered, muffled against her sleeve.

"Fuck yeah!" he cried out loudly, "suck me! Harder!"

She fell off the desk trying to contain her laughter, she pushed her hands hard to her mouth, shutting her eyes tightly; oh the things she wished she could un-hear. The thought of the act he was feigning they were participating in made the need to laugh so hard that her stomach was shaking hard with the struggle as she muffled it into her hands.

"Like that! Yeah! Mmmm!"

_Oh god, this is too funny...I can't hold the laugh in much longer..._

He kicked her backside; it suddenly stopped her laughing as she rolled over to look at him in confusion. Remy's fist swung for her and she rolled out of the way just in time to miss it. At first, she was incredibly confused until he dropped to pin her, and she cried out in surprise; the noise...she realised was not all that different from.

She pushed against him, kneeing him in in the stomach until he grunted and cried "Oh fuck!"

They rattled some floorboards fighting, mostly trying to hold each other down, grunting and gasping at the mild pain as they did so; the noises were all she _could make_. Eventually, when they were both tired and Remy's hair was becoming tinged with sweat, they stopped and Remy rolled over onto the floor, he ran his hand through his hair and tried to catch his breath.

"You suck at this," he said finally once he'd caught his breath.

"Ah suck at this?" She rolled her eyes and as she got up she glanced down at him and uttered, "_suck me,_" she said it pointedly, reminding him of his words.

Suddenly he was laughing, he had to stifle it against his hands so that Jean-Luc wasn't likely to hear him. "Oh, chere..." he said, finally, shaking his head as he got up. "I ain' laughed like that in a good long time," he held his stomach.

Rogue smirked at him, "You want a good laugh? Record yourself during your next performance, see how you sound."

* * *

After a little time had passed following their vocal performance and rolling around, the two left the LeBeau house to go to the grocery store about twenty miles away; Remy had showed her around the rest of the house after his so-called father had passed out drunk and it had been revealed the house had no food, no toilet paper, and there wasn't even anything to drink other than questionable tap water.

Rogue felt so strange, grocery shopping with Remy LeBeau. It was such a mundane thing to do with a person she barely knew and it felt oddly personal to watch the things he picked from the shelves. He liked Pop Tarts; frosted brown sugar cinnamon. She found this surprising and she wasn't exactly sure why. How many meal times had Remy skipped and made up for with Pop Tarts?

"If we're gonna keep up with this charade," said Remy, he walked by Rogue's side as she pushed the shopping cart down the cereal aisle. "You gotta learn how to act."

"Ah know how to act. Ah took drama club," she commented, watching as he took a box of Cornflakes from a shelf and dropped it into the cart.

"I'm not talking about theatrical acting, chere," Remy explained. "Y' still ain't comfortable around me, or with me, and we're _supposed_ t' be married," he kept his voice quiet as they walked together. "We ain' needed to make it obvious up 'til now," he explained, "so you didn't get used t' the idea...but now that we're here..." he slung his arm around her shoulders, "y' need to be _with_ me, d' y' understand?"

"How _with you_ do Ah need to be?" she asked casually, she spotted her favourite flavour of cereal bars from the shelf and grabbed it from the shelf, shrugging out of his touch at the same time. "Can Ah have these?"

"First of all..." he said, "y' can have whatever y' want," he said, taking the box from her and tossing it into the cart, "second..." he turned her towards him, "Just stop pullin' away from me like that..."

"Ah was goin' t' get the-" she began.

He took her arms and led them around his neck, right there in the middle of the cereal aisle. "We're married, and married people aren't shy about touchin' each other."

"Ah have to be careful," she reminded nervously.

"Then be careful, but don't be shy about it..." he pulled her into him, "get used t' this, it's gon' happen a fair bit until we leave for Bayville."

Rogue looked away from him; did he still intend on coming to Bayville? She'd suggested he not, but he had been undeniably drunk at the time.

"What..." he said, "what is it?" he put his hand on her hair and turned her head so she would look at him.

"Ah just...Ah thought maybe when you said you were comin' to Bayville that it was-"

"A lie?"

"I guess," she moved away from him to push the cart again.

"Oh, I'm definitely coming to Bayville wit' you," he assured. "Hard to believe as it's gonna be...I can't wait."

Rogue glanced at him; she wondered if it were true or not that he really did want to be there. She wouldn't have blamed him if he didn't, but definitely understood why if he did. It seemed he'd have done anything to get out of the hellhole of a home he was living in.

From the cereal aisle, they moved to the toiletries aisle; Remy tossed a tube of toothpaste into the cart, and a pack of four toothbrushes. Rogue had forgotten to bring hers and it wasn't up until now she had realised how bad her breath had probably become. She grabbed a bottle of Listerine from the shelf and dropped that into the cart too.

"Just as well we don't have to kiss, huh?" she asked coolly as she did so.

He gave an ironic laugh, "yeah well...morning breath has never bothered me all that much."

Rogue went about picking up her favourite shampoo and conditioner while Remy went about grabbing other things for the bathroom. Her eyes just caught his hand as he dropped a box of condoms into the cart.

"Uhm..." she raised an eyebrow, "dare I ask?"

"We're meant to be having sex."

"And?" her eyes fell to the condom box; did that say _ribbed for her pleasure_?

"We want to make it obvious we are..." Remy gestured to the box. "I'm careful about sex, I don't want kids..."

Rogue met his eyes, "never?"

"I don't know 'bout _never_, I just know _now_ ain't the time to be makin' babies," he shrugged. "One other reason t' avoid bein' with Belle," he said quietly under his breath.

"But if they stay in the wrappers forever, isn't someone gonna figure out that we're _not_ having sex?" Rogue asked quietly. The words 'having sex' were hard to get out and her voice sounded odd as she said it.

"I'll tear the wrappers up, make a point of leavin' them around," he explained simply.

"And that will be enough to convince your family?"

"If it isn't..." he took a moment to consider, "I guess I can always fill them and leave 'em danglin' from the bathroom waste basket...that shouldn't leave much doubt in their mind."

"Fill...them..." she said, for one moment the concept of him doing this had confused her.

"Y'know...manually."

Rogue closed her eyes and tried to get the mental image out of her head. "Ew..." she shuddered.

"Look, I'm a man, and I'm also your husband. There's things I do y' gonna have to deal with," he stated calmly. "I make no apologies for the fact either. And if at the end of the day I can do _that_ while keepin' Jean-Luc convinced we're fucking on a daily basis, then all the better."

"You don't need to do it," Rogue made a face.

"Like hell I don't," he muttered. "I need _one_ vice in my life."

"One?" she scoffed. "You smoke. That's a vice."

"I'm quitting."

"Why?"

"'Cause I noticed every time I smoke when you're around your voice starts soundin' different," he answered. "My smokin' is affectin' you...so...I need to quit."

This surprised her; she turned to stare at him. "You're stopping...for me?"

"You are my wife after all."

* * *

~ End of Part Four ~

Thanks to you all who have been reviewing and who are enjoying the story. Thanks for all the kind things you have all said. More will be coming soon, I promise :)


	5. Part Five

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Five ~

~ Settling ~

* * *

When they returned home to the house, Jean-Luc was still passed out in the living room on the old threadbare sofa, which suited Remy LeBeau fine evidently. Rogue watched him putting away groceries in the cupboards as she noted the pile of dishes in the sink that looked as if they hadn't been done for weeks. The whole kitchen was filthy and needed a good cleaning out; she wasn't sure if she could live here under these kind of conditions.

"We used to have a housekeeper," Remy said after a moment, "but she quit when Jean-Luc tried to grope her in one of his drunken states."

"Understandable," Rogue commented, she peeled her gloves off, her engagement ring, now revealed, sparkled. It was probably the brightest thing in the kitchen. Sighing quietly, she removed the dishes from the sink and began to fill it with hot water, squirting in a good amount of antibacterial dish soap for good measure.

"Y' don't need to do that," Remy turned to look at her.

"If I'm gonna live here, things need to be clean," she said, "and we need dishes to eat off of," she noted.

"I'll help..." he offered.

"You can clean the counters when you've put stuff away," Rogue suggested, she put the dishes into the hot water to soak for a few moments.

"Chere..." he sighed, "I appreciate...y'know...everything...I hope y'know that."

"Yeah, yeah," she waved the words off.

"It's probably the _nicest_ thing anyone has ever done for me."

"Yeah, whatever," she said casually as she put the dish soap in the cabinet beneath the sink.

He gave a soft laugh at her attitude to the situation. "Y' don't like bein' gushed over, do you?"

"Who does?"

"I guess you're not big on the attention," he admitted.

"I never was one for attention."

"Then why you wear so much make up?"

"Makes me feel like me," Rogue answered as she turned to look at him, "I could ask the same of why you wear your hair long, or why you wear that stupid ugly trench coat that we had to have _dry cleaned_ while we were in town."

"It has a lot of pockets," Remy replied with a shrug. "Besides, can easily hide armour under it, which comes in handy."

"You look better without it," she admitted while she unwrapped the packet of dish sponges they'd bought at the store.

"Well y'know what, you look better without all that thick eyeliner and dark lipstick."

"Lies," Rogue tossed the rest of the packet at him.

"I'm not lyin'," he leaned on the counter, holding the packet of three remaining sponges. "I thought y' looked beautiful this mornin' when y' didn' even _have _any makeup on."

"Now you're just bein' silly," she replied as she shoved the sponge into the hot bubbly water and began to scrub at the first dish she found.

"Not really," he replied while he opened the box of Pop Tarts they'd purchased earlier. "Want one?" he offered.

"I'm not hungry," she answered. She truly wasn't; especially not after having seen the filth in the kitchen.

"Y' aint eaten anything since last night," he reminded.

"I'll eat when I'm ready."

The sound of the front door clicking open disturbed Remy; he put down the box and immediately moved behind Rogue.

"What the-" she was about to ask, his arms slipped around her from behind instantly and pulled her into him, his gesture overly romantic and unwelcome at that moment in time.

"Remy..."

They both turned to look at the kitchen door, a boy in his early twenties was there; he was dark haired, dark eyed, but full in the face although he resembled Jean-Luc LeBeau incredibly down to the same smug mouth.

"Henri," said Remy, still holding onto Rogue's waist. "Was wonderin' where you were..."

"Pickin' out my tuxedo..." said Henri, "which...by the looks of it...I'm...not gon' need?"

"I guess father never called you t' tell you I was back."

"Non," said Henri, his eyes squinting. "Who this?"

"This is Rogue. My _wife._"

"Your wife...you're havin' me on."

"Not really," Remy took a hold of Rogue's arm and raised it to show him the rings. "We been married a while...just separated is all."

"And y' never thought t' tell anyone?"

"I had no reason t' tell you."

"When we all sat here talkin' about you getting married t' Bella Donna it never _occurred_ t' you to tell us then?"

"Not really," Remy shrugged, his other arm still tight around Rogue.

"Y' never gave any indication y' _were_ either," Henri folded his arms.

"Never gave any indication I _wasn't,_" Remy said smartly. "Aren't y' gonna say hello t' my lovely wife, here?"

"Y' outta your goddamn mind, Remy," Henri shook his head, "and Marius is gonna _kill_ you...and so is Julien."

"Let them come after me, I point them towards Jean-Luc, he the one who arranged all this before even _thinkin' _t' ask me if there was a slightest possibility I might _already_ be married."

Henri left the room without another word. Rogue glanced over her shoulder at Remy questioningly.

"He's charming, isn't he?" Remy asked. "Didn't acknowledge you _once._"

"Why is it all the men in your family are jerks?" she asked.

"Family trait. Why you think they adopted me?" he smirked.

"Good point," she moved away from him, "c'mon. We got lots to do before I can cook anything in this kitchen."

"Okay, okay," he nodded.

"Who's Julien."

"My ex-future wife's insanely jealous brother," Remy replied. "He's hated me since school. And he's got an _unhealthy_ obsession with his sister. Personally, I think he gets off on thinkin' about her."

"Oh my _God,_ that's such a horrible thing to say."

"It's true...y' should see the way he look at her...it's scary..." Remy replied, "last time I saw him and her together I saw him look down her shirt...and it was _real_ obvious he had a har-"

"Remy!" she admonished.

He gave a weak laugh, "okay, okay," he put his hands up. "Sorry. Was just tryin' to put you in the picture."

"Will he kill you?" Rogue queried.

"He'll probably be _relieved_ I'm not marrying his precious sister. But he will be mad that she's about to be humiliated by both families and all her friends that the wedding will be cancelled because we're married."

"Oh," Rogue said quietly.

"But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it. When Jean-Luc wakes up, he's gon' have to make that phone call to Marius...Belle's father...and tell him the big news."

* * *

After cleaning the kitchen – which had taken most of the night – they didn't get to eating until around eleven pm. Rogue felt exhaustion pulling at her in every direction as she sat picking at the meal she'd chosen to cook – a simple but filling Shepherds pie which had been pre-made at the store and all she'd had to do was bake it.

Jean-Luc still hadn't awakened, and Henri had refused to eat in the kitchen and had taken his plate upstairs.

"It's been a long day," Remy said tiredly, he pushed around the minced lamb and mashed potato on his plate, he seemed to be unsure whether he liked it or not, but he'd tried a few bites at least although Rogue was sure he'd filled up on Pop Tarts before it had come out of the oven.

"Tomorrow we need to get the rest of this place completely gutted," she said, "your room needs a good scrub..."

"That reminds me

..." he said, "gotta get the sheets off the line out back."

"Can do that after dinner," she gestured to the food.

"I'm not big on English cooking," he said.

"It was the only thing I could see that I could make quick without puttin' too much work into it. I don't cook that often," she explained then took a small bite.

"You just don't or you don't know _how_?"

"Both."

"I'll teach you."

"You can cook?" Rogue laughed at this.

"Sure I can. Had a nanny when I was fifteen showed me out to cook a lot of things...things a lot tastier than this," he gestured to the plate.

"Just eat it and be thankful I didn't hock a loogie in it," Rogue commented.

He smirked, "okay."

"So..." Rogue said. "Tomorrow, you're gonna clean your room from top to bottom, I guess I'll do the hall...those stairs could really use a scrub."

"Yeah," he shrugged.

"What happened to the newel post?"

"I got mad and threw a charged card at it," he uttered, "was a small charge but...still..."

"You get mad a lot?"

"Do I look like I have a temper?"

"I don't know," Rogue shrugged, "I don't know you that well."

"Y' know me better than these idiots do," he gestured around the room although there was no one else there.

"Ah doubt it," she sighed, she'd had enough of her food and she got up to clear her plate into the trash.

He got up, too having eaten enough, and gave her his plate so she could clear it off while he went to run the water to clean the dishes. "What do you wanna know, chere?" he asked.

"Ah don't know."

"'Cause I'll tell y' anything y' wanna know."

She considered his words carefully as she finished scraping the plate into the trash, she brought both plates over to the counter. "Anything?"

"Yeah."

Rogue watched him put the plates into the water. "Why were you watching me?"

He turned to glance at her distractedly as he was cleaning the dishes, "hmm?"

"Why did you watch me...why did you want _my _help. Jean is like...one of the most powerful mutants in the X-Men...she could have helped you better than _I_ could have."

Remy glanced down into the soapy water, "Jean isn't as interesting as you."

"What?" she raised an eyebrow at him.

He thought about his answer before speaking. "If we were all planets and stars...all in the solar system...then Jean _might_ just be the sun..." he admitted. "And lets say...you're the moon."

She folded her arms as she watched him, this was a curious and confusing comment for him to make, but she wanted to at least give him a chance to explain it.

"Sun is warm, the sun shines, the sun is powerful, the biggest thing _there_, y'know?"

"Right..." Rogue nodded unsurely.

"Can't really look directly at the sun, though. It just hurts y' goddamn eyes."

"And the moon?" Rogue queried.

"The moon is beautiful. I could stare at it for hours. Sure, the sun is more powerful, but the moon...she revolves around the Earth, and the Earth is attracted to her...the tides move for her."

Rogue glanced into the water, "so where are you in the solar system."

"I'm the Earth."

Her eyes lifted to briefly meet with his, "Ah think...Ah'm gonna go get changed for bed."

"I'll be up shortly," he said with a tiny smile.

* * *

Rogue changed as quickly as she could in the bedroom before Remy came upstairs. She was wearing the same pyjamas she'd bought for the night of the honeymoon and the only ones she owned. She made a mental note to buy more at some point if she could get Remy to drive her to the city. She didn't relish the thought of trying to drive Remy's car into the city alone, especially with being so unfamiliar with it.

When Remy came upstairs, he had the freshly cleaned bedsheets with him; the smell of laundry detergent was still on them.

As she helped him to make the bed, she glanced over at him; he looked so tired and she wondered if he still felt hungover so much time later. "How you feelin'?" she asked.

"Tired," he answered.

"Hungover?"

"Headache hasn't really gone away," he admitted. "Although since y' banged my head against the floor earlier, I don't know if it's the hangover or the concussion," he smirked at her.

"How long do we have to do this for?" Rogue asked.

"Until the bed is made."

"No, I mean _this," _she gestured between them. "Bein' here...us...together."

"Oh...maybe three weeks or so...maybe longer...however long it takes them to be convinced we're married...and that it's not changin'," he explained as he slipped a pillowcase onto one of the pillows. "So..." he glanced down at the bed, "which side y' wanna sleep on?"

"The _whole_ side. You're sleepin' on the floor like the dog you are," Rogue remarked as she threw the top sheet on the bed and smoothed it over.

"You're crazy...you think Jean-Luc won't ask Henri to pick the lock while we're sleeping to _check_ that we're sleeping together?"

"It's a _single_ bed. I'm sure they'd understand _why_ you're on the floor and your poor wife gets the bed to herself," Rogue put the blanket over and tucked it into the bottom of the bed tightly. "If anyone asks we got in a fight and I kicked out out of bed."

"C'monnnnnn, we're married now, it's okay to sleep together," he teased, he tackled her down to the bed and pinned her playfully, "it's what couples do."

"Normal couples. We're not normal," she reminded, looking up at him.

"Close as it gets in my case," he assured. He climbed off of her and walked over to the dresser to find something to wear to bed; Rogue lay on the covers watching him, she pulled herself up a little into a sitting position.

"Your daddy...he drinks a lot, doesn't he?"

"I guess you knew by the yellow eyes and the charming demeanour," Remy glanced over his shoulder at her.

Rogue brought her knees up and let her hands rest against them, "he went to hit you."

Remy paused at the dresser, "oh...didn't...know you saw that."

"He do that a lot?"

"Every chance he get," Remy shrugged, "he ain't fast enough these days to get me in time."

He'd tried to make it sound funny...like a joke. But his tone was different and Rogue noted it. He sounded hurt, like a little child.

"He always been that way?" Rogue asked quietly.

"What do you think?" Remy grabbed a pair of jogging pants from his drawer and slammed it shut.

"Ah think he's a jerk..." Rogue admitted softly.

"Guess we're in agreement, then."

"And Ah can't blame you for wanting to come home with me."

"No one could blame any man for wanting to come home with you," he said quickly he glanced at her with a smirk as he placed the pants on the dresser, and then unbuttoned his jeans.

"No! Not here! Change in the bathroom!"

"Are you shittin' me? You want to kick me out of my _own_ room because I'm getting changed. For christs sake, chere...we been married two days now...get used to it, you're gonna see me nude."

"Ah don't particularly _want_ to."

"I have underwear on," he rolled his eyes and dropped his pants. "You didn' mind ogling me in the shower early this mornin'."

"Ah wasn't ogling."

"You ogled. You ogled and stared. And then you tried to pretend that you didn't see anyt'ing at all," he yanked his t-shirt off and threw it at her.

"What the hell you think this is, a strip tease? Cut it out."

"Oh, y' want a strip tease? That can be arranged y'know!"

"No! Cut it out!"

He started to thrust his hips while swaying his arms in a very corny impersonation of a male stripper, he sang in a series of "dah-nah-nah-nah's" which made her want to start laughing.

"Oh please stop, you're just embarrassing yourself."

"Dah-nah-nah-nah," he sang, he turned around to shake his backside at her.

"Please stop," she burst out laughing.

"I coulda been an exotic dancer," he assured, he came up to the bed to shake his backside at her some more, changing the rhythm of the music to something a little more upbeat.

"Right. Cut it out. It's late and we could use a rest."

"C'mon, chere, give it a little smack, y'know you want to."

"Ah'm gonna smack you...sure...in the face."

"Where's your sense of fun?" he smacked his own ass and laughed. "You seen how firm this ass is?" he rolled down the waist of his boxers, "check that out...like a pair of perfectly sculpted rocks."

Rogue glanced at his bottom briefly; indeed, it did look quite firm...but she wasn't an expert on these matters. "Yeah...okay. Get dressed and go to sleep."

"Feel..." he gestured.

"Did you like...drink ten Red Bulls or something?"

"Look give it a squeeze and I'll come to bed," he instructed, he shook it again, "c'mon."

"If ah squeeze and you fart on me...Ah'm gonna seriously kick your ass up and down this room."

"I'm not gonna, c'mon," he wiggled, "you paid for these goods in full when you put the ring on my finger."

Rogue shook her head, bored with the act now. She gave his ass a harder slap than perhaps she'd meant to, which made him jump forward just a little. "Yeah, like rock. Go to bed."

"You need to have more fun in life, Rogue..." he sighed as he pulled up his boxers.

"Ah'm too tired for fun."

"You must be tired _all_ the time."

* * *

Light broke through the curtain-less window earlier than anticipated, and a streak of bright light streamed across the room right onto Remy LeBeau's face, awakening him in discomfort. He groaned as he leaned up, he felt his back pressing against Rogue in the too-small bed.

Remy leaned up, brushing his hair out of his eyes and slowly and carefully turning over so he could look at her. Her hair was in her face too, and he tenderly reached over to brush it very carefully from her face so he could examine her; her face was serene, her skin, which was normally pale, was still vaguely glowing from the spray tan from days ago.

It felt odd to him, to be sharing a bed with her. It had been the first time he'd ever really shared a bed with _any _girl. Certainly he'd spent a few fun-filled hours in various beds with girls and women throughout his life, but he'd never _spent_ the entire night in the same bed, and never _slept_ with any of them.

How strangely comfortable it felt in the small bed; knees pressing against each others, her socked foot against his bare foot, her elbow pressing into his chest. He had somehow expected it to feel awkward, but this was nice...it was different.

Beneath the covers, he slipped his arm over her while at the same time, easing himself closer, their faces inches apart. He could breathe in the smell of her hair, could feel the firm muscle of her thigh as he pressed his to hers.

_Is this meant to be what married life feels like?_ He pondered as he watched her sleep. Had he been able to touch her he may have stroked her cheek or perhaps leaned into kiss her rose petal lip.

_Stop torturing yourself. This is stupid...you know she can't touch you, and that's _never_ gonna change. Get used to it. This is a marriage of convenience...you can't _love_ her._

Rogue shifted uncomfortably, and made a soft sigh; her eyes opened, her lashes long and dark, still stained by last night's mascara. She seemed almost startled by his close proximity.

"Bon matin," he said with a smile.

"Mornin'," she said, she closed her eyes and yawned, stretching her legs a little; they pushed up against him and she paused to lift the covers and look down. Their feet were tangled together.

"Close quarters, bound t' end up all over each other," he admitted, he toyed with a curl of her hair, wrist settled on her pillow.

"Why is your arm around me?"

"Felt like a snugglin' kinda morning."

Rogue shifted, "Remy, Ah _swear_ to god-"

"What is it?" he asked, surprised by the sudden way she moved back from him.

"Get _that_ away from me..." she gestured to his middle.

Remy hadn't noticed that condition that males frequently suffered n the morning; at least not until she had mentioned it. He glanced over the covers and blinked, "oh...yeah...that."

"See _this_ is why Ah don't want to share a bed with you. You're sex mad."

He laughed as he sat up; she had gotten out of the bed and was standing several feet away now. "Relax, chere. It's just a little morning _wood_, that's all. And I wasn't even _thinkin' _of sex."

"_That_ is arousal, I took sex-ed class, I know how it works."

"Yeah, do you know about the male system check first thing in the mornin'?" he asked, "'cause that's what this is...just my body checkin' to make sure everythin' is working."

"It looks like there's no problem," Rogue covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, there's a problem..." he glanced under the covers again, "these things don't generally take care of themselves as a rule."

Rogue shuddered, "then go to the bathroom or something. Get _rid_ of it."

"Wanna help? I make funny sounds again, y' can laugh at me _all _y' want after...even if it doesn't do much for my self esteem."

"This isn't funny. This is...inappropriate."

"What could be more appropriate? We're _married,_" he reminded. "And nothin' has even been _consummated _yet," he added.

"There'll be no _consummation_ of anything," Rogue grumbled, she sat on the very edge of the bed. "And there never _can_ be. Remember, it's one of the _reasons_ you said you chose me...no complications...you'd never have to touch me."

"I never said that."

"Yes you did," Rogue combed her gloved fingers through her hair.

He was positive he didn't, but he wasn't in the mood to argue with her. "Ain't y' curious?"

"About?"

"Sex."

"Ah'm not curious. And even if Ah _was, _Ah can read, Ah can Google..."

"You've never even _seen_ an erection; have you?"

"Ah've seen a drawing of one in sex-ed," she shrugged.

"But not a real one?"

Her cheeks flushed, "can we just _drop_ the subject?"

"Y' could take a look...I mean, this is a good opportunity for learnin' all about male anatomy..."

"Get a grip," Rogue rolled her eyes, she got up to approach the suitcases which were stood against the wall near the window.

"I can do that too," he teased.

"Shut up."

"Okay."

Rogue knelt on the floor to open her case, she had only one more change of clothes and then she would need to do some laundry. Three changes of clothes – which included the outfit she'd worn from Bayville – was all that she had to her name here.

"Is that the wedding lingerie?" Remy asked, leaning out of bed to get a better look at what she was digging through.

"It wasn't damaged or anything like the dress...why throw it away?"

"That's some pretty nice underwear. Shame I didn't get t' see you in it a little more."

"So you remember seeing me in it, then," she muttered as she pushed it to the back of the case and took out the last of her clean clothes.

He paused for a moment, "yeah...'course I do."

"But you don't remember getting sloshed at a strip club and comin' back to the hotel at 5am barely able to stand," Rogue commented.

"Huh?"

She turned to look at him, her expression the most serious he'd ever seen.

"You," she said, "you came in at 5am reekin' of booze and covered in lipstick. You went to a nudey bar and came home so drunk that you didn't even remember six hours later when you woke up."

He stared at her, her face was so...so odd. Her expression was caught somewhere between angry, hurt and trying not to care.

"Don't look at me like that, it's true. If you wanted you could call the hotel and ask _when_ you came in and had to have their Bellboy get a spare key to let you into your room 'cause you'd forgotten yours."

His eyes dropped to the floor, "I don't remember any of this."

"Yeah, I figured. I knew by the look on your face in the morning that you didn't remember anything."

"And you're mad at me. I guess that's why you were so pissed at me when I eventually stopped throwing up."

"Yeah," she said quietly, holding her clothes as she stood up.

Now he just barely remembered leaving the hotel to go for cigarettes...and just barely remembering feeling that certain urge to go the strip club. How could he have done that? How could he have _just_ left Rogue there in the hotel room alone while he went to enjoy himself?

_You know why you did it,_ he thought at himself miserably. _You couldn't have _her_, so you wanted something else. _

He watched Rogue, she was standing there, clothes in her arms, her expression very sombre. Had it hurt her? He couldn't remember getting home and couldn't remember ever talking with her, but there must have been some kind of confrontation because she'd known about the strip club.

"I...okay, I remember leaving...and thinkin' I'll go to a strip club...I didn't mean to go out 'til 5am..." he sighed, "I just...I didn't think you'd mind...you told me to stay at the _original_ club we were in...I thought y'know...y' really didn't care what I did."

"I don't," Rogue said quietly.

"You sure?" he asked; why did it _hurt_ so bad when she said she didn't? It was like the ultimate rejection.

"You can do what you like, we're not ma-" she stopped herself. "I mean, we're not _really_ married."

"But we are!"

"We're _legally_ married. We just aren't married _emotionally._"

He frowned. Why did he feel that this statement was far from the truth?

* * *

That morning was spent busily cleaning the house; Rogue took the hallway while Remy took his room; Rogue giving him that task afraid of what she might find if she happened to look under the bed or in the drawers for space to put her own clothes.

When afternoon came, Jean-Luc finally arose from his deep slumber on the couch, his smell was putrid, as if he hadn't showered for many days and had possibly urinated on himself more than once. Rogue wondered how it could be that a man could let himself get into such a mess.

As Jean-Luc staggered exhaustedly into the hallway, his hair was mussed, his eyes bleary, the fabric lines of the couch cushions seemed to be embedded into his cheek. His eyes met with hers, his face fell. "I thought I'd dreamed that shit."

Rogue blinked, "uhm, afraid not..." she chewed the inside of her cheek momentarily as she considered how to refrain from making him angry; she was sure by now he must have been very annoyed with her presence. "Would...you like some coffee? We bought coffee yesterday, there's a pot on the stove right now brewing..."

Jean-Luc headed for the kitchen, Rogue felt prompted to follow, to make sure he wasn't about to burn himself stupidly in his half-awake stupor. "Why'd you marry his sorry ass?" he demanded.

Rogue rushed by him to grab a cup from the cup tree on the counter and she poured him a cup from the stove-top percolator that looked as if it might have been a good twenty or thirty years old. She remember what Remy had said about answering questions, she had to think on her feet, be fast and definite, and never for a moment need to consider the answers carefully.

"Ah love him," Rogue answered, "why else would Ah marry the boy?"

"'Cause y' want his money," Jean-Luc said, he accepted the cup but yanked it from her grudgingly.

Rogue raised an eyebrow, "he has _money?_"

"Like y' don' know," Jean-Luc growled.

"Ah don't..."

"How he pay for a big fancy weddin', chere?"

Rogue had to answer quickly, "stolen credit card..."

"Gold?"

"Yeah."

"Chere, that ain't a stolen credit card," Jean-Luc sat down at the table, he took a sip from the hot bitter liquid and frowned at it. "Needs sugar."

"Oh c'mon, you're not tellin' me that credit card is _legit..._I saw the name on it, and the name _wasn't_ his."

"Jus' one of his _many_ aliases, chere," Jean-Luc held the cup up, "sugar."

"How'd he make that money?"

"Workin'...and if y' _do_ know him the way you make out the way y' do then you woulda _known_ that."

"Maybe it's _you_ who doesn't know him," Rogue grabbed the sugar jar from the counter and put it onto the table. "Remy is _ashamed_ of what he does...and he didn't _want_ me to know that was _dishonest_ money he was spending on our _wedding._ But you've ruined it now...now he's gonna be even more pissed with you."

"I don't care what he is, chere. The boy is off his goddamn head. And his future wife-"

"Ex-future wife," Rogue connected.

"Is gonna have her brother _kill_ his sorry ass for this."

"You sound like you don't _care,_" Rogue folded her arms.

Jean-Luc poured sugar into his mug. "He rather see the feud destroy both guilds rather than do what he swore to do and uphold his promises to ours."

"Who the hell do you think you are, tellin' him who to love?" Rogue demanded suddenly. "Just 'cause _your_ life is ruined, doesn't mean you have the right to ruin _his._"

"He ruin' his life already, marryin' you, chere," Jean-Luc smirked. "And when he realises it, it can _all_ be annulled."

"It can't be _annulled,_" Rogue frowned, "me and him have-"

"No, y' ain't," Jean-Luc sipped his coffee, quietly content now. "Y' ain't finalized that marriage...it can be undone. There hasn't been any _consummation."_

"Yes there _has,_" she lied, her breath caught in her chest so hard that it felt like she might cough.

"No. It ain't. 'Cause I know y' can't. I know the min he touch you, y' gonna kill him...and if y' _do_ love him...y' wouldn't do that t' him."

Rogue shook her head, "No. It's _not_ true. We have..."

"Y' have what...? Tell me, chere...what you and he been doin'...?"

"We...we..."

"Y' messin' around clatterin' furniture up there, but y' definitely weren't fuckin'. I've _heard_ the sounds Remy can get out of le femmes, chere. When he get a girl in his room, the headboard is rattlin' so hard it leaves _cracks_ in the walls. I know the noise he make when he _fuckin'_ a girl, and trust me...what I heard wasn't it."

Rogue swallowed her emotion.

"And y' never gonna know what that feel like with him...love or not. So y' might as well pack up, give him the annulment, and get _on_ with his life and the _real_ woman he s'pposed t' be with...'cause this marriage of yours a sham, and I ain't fallin' for it."

"Ah don't care whatever you _think,_ Jean-Luc LeBeau," she said quickly, fury burning just behind her eyes making her want to cry, and yet it settled so far down in her throat that she wanted to scream at him.

"Y' gon' care soon enough, chere, y' gon' be desperate for that annulment when he start goin' off with other women...women who can _give _him what he need. He a young man, chere. A man who got _needs,_ and you ain' capable of givin' him nothin' but grief."

Rogue felt tears stinging her eyes.

"Remy say he love you, but he don' care. He never cared. He never care about _any_ girl he brought up in here. Y' think his crap is romantic? Y' think what he says is real? That's just his facade, chere. That's just what he use t' get 'em _all_ into bed. Y' think he might possibly love you? It's jus' what he lettin y' think so y' stay with him...prevent him from bein' tied to his _real_ destiny."

Blinking back her tears, Rogue forced herself to react as angrily as she could manage, "Me and Remy are _legally_ married, and he isn't getting nor does he _want_ an annulment."

"We'll see, chere," Jean-Luc laughed. "We'll see."

* * *

~ End of Part Five ~

Thanks for all the kind and thoughtful reviews - I really love knowing what you guys think about the story and my version of the characters. As requested, I've gone and shifted everything in to one story, so I've lost some reviews unfortunately *sadface*. Might be a little longer before part six, as I'm still in the progress of writing it.


	6. Part Six

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Six ~

~ Volatile ~

* * *

"You've been real quiet," Remy said to Rogue; he was behind the wheel of his Zodiac, arm leaning on the open window, the sun made the sweat on his tanned chest almost shimmer as it shone through the windscreen. His tanktop – clean on that morning – was already stained with sweat, and his hair was tinged with it. He felt uncomfortable and sticky despite the shower he'd only recently taken.

It was a hot Louisiana afternoon, and they were heading out to the nearest town so Rogue could buy some extra clothes for her stay. She hadn't said a word to him since his suggestion that they go; she'd merely nodded and followed him to the car.

Her eyes were turned towards the open passengers side window, she seemed lost somehow...lost in her own thoughts.

_What the hell is wrong with her? _He worried.

He pulled the car around a wide corner, leading down into a long lonely strip of road that was lined with old trees, branches thick and reaching downwards as if trying to touch the roof of the car like tickling fingers. He'd always loved this road...the solitude of it, the silence...no cars for miles, and the light...the way it filtered down through the leaves dappling down onto the ground like dancing orbs as the branches shifted in the wind.

"Y' know," he began, "I think while we're in town, we might go for somethin' t' eat. What y' think?"

No answer, he wasn't even sure if he saw her shrug or not from the corner of his eyes. He set his jaw and stared at the road ahead, he slowed the car a little just to enjoy the road; it was tranquil, and for one moment, the worries of being back at home with his family, seemed to melt away.

"I love this road," he admitted. "So quiet...nothin' else for miles..."

She was staring out of the windscreen; he took a moment to look at her and see the pensive expression on her face.

"Whenever Jean-Luc would go off at me for one reason or another...and I needed t' escape for a bit..." Remy left one hand steady on the wheel, "I used t' drive out here and just park. At night...all you hear is the rustlin' of the trees in the wind...kinda soothin', y'know?"

She still had nothing to say; why did it leave him feeling so anxious? He couldn't settle with her being like this...it left him uncomfortable, as if he were a stranger in his own car. Small talk had always been one of his fortes into getting women to warm up to him but right now it seemed his efforts were futile.

"Can't see much out there at night, mind you, it gets so dark down about here, but...yeah, it's peaceful..." he shifted in the seat, tried to get comfortable, tried to relax. It wasn't happening, and he felt tension building in his shoulders, and in the base of his spine.

_Why isn't she _saying_ anything? Did I piss her off? She was talking to me this morning even after the discussion about the stupid thing I did on our weddin' night..._

"Chere..." he cleared his throat, "is there...somethin' wrong? Did I do somethin' t' upset you?"

No answer. She didn't even turn to look at him as he asked, which he hated. It was almost one step up from being completely ignored. _Is she ignorin' me_? He pondered, he glanced briefly at her, but her head was turned too far away now for him to know what her expression was like.

"I just...I wish y' would let me know sometimes how y' feel...'cause I can't read y' mind and...whoah!"

Her sudden movement did _not _come with any warning, and it caused him to swerve the car accidentally in his surprise while at the same time, stepping hard on the gas without meaning to. He recovered his thoughts quickly and slammed on the breaks hard; the car skidded to a halt, sitting diagonally in the middle of the road.

Breathing hard from the rush of adrenaline and indeed the surprise, he glanced down slowly to his lap, finding Rogue's hand there, gripping his groin.

He dared not move; it felt like some kind of crazy nightmare where you might look down and find a large and ugly poisonous sitting on your bare flesh ready to strike. Granted, this wasn't a poisonous spider, but the gesture had more or less the same effect.

Why did he feel suddenly so...frozen?

In all the time he'd been sexually active in the past five years, he'd never felt so completely lost. Instinctively he knew all the right things to say, to do, all the right reactions to have; these things almost second nature.

And yet there Rogue was, doing exactly the kind of thing he would have expected of _any_ other girl...and he was frozen.

"Chere..." he finally managed, his voice came out in a whispering gasp.

She reached over with her other hand, grabbing for the waist of his jeans and unbuttoned him; he was still frozen to the spot, watching her, bewildered. He wanted to ask what she _thought_ she was doing...and _most importantly why._

He inhaled a shuddering breath at her intimate touch; the cool leather of her gloves against his skin as she pushed her fingers into his jeans clumsily to fondle him. "R-Rogue..." he managed, he closed his eyes, his fingers were tight around the steering wheel. "Whatchu think y' doin'..."

"It's what you wanted, isn't it?"

Her answer was monotone and alien to him; it was what brought him back to earth and he fought to pull her hand away from him.

"That's it, stop...stop right now," he said. "What the hell are you-"

"Forget it," she uttered. Her face red, her eyes angry.

"_What?"_

She shook her head at him then turned back to glance out of the passenger side window, her mouth pursed; why did she look so furious?

Remy ran his hand through his hair, breathing heavy still from the shock of having almost swerved off the road. He took a moment to gather his thoughts but he had so many of them. _Why had she gone ahead so...suddenly? What had prompted it? Why was she so mad? Why was she acting so strangely in the first place?_

_"_Just forget it ever happened," Rogue commented after a moment, her voice strained. "You're good at that."

"Look," he said, he breathed in deeply, exhaled carefully and tried to speak calmly. "I'm all _for_ takin' things further. Y'know me, I _like_ sex. I can't pretend I _don't."_

She sighed, "then what's your problem?" she uttered, her tone was bitter.

"It's just..." he paused. _Consider your words carefully, LeBeau, she's fragile...she's not like every other girl you've ever taken liberties with._

Rogue refused to meet his eye, her mouth still tightly closed, her cheek twitched just a little as if the muscles of her face were tense with the frustration.

"It's just that...one minute...y' all cold t' me...y' don' wanna humour my _sex jokes_ at all..." he kept his eyes on hers even if she wouldn't return his gaze. "And now...y' decide it's time to get all...curious...in the car...while I'm still drivin'. Don't make sense, chere. It just _don't._"

"Does it _have_ to make sense?" she asked.

He supposed if he thought about it long and hard nothing in his life right now did make sense. Not this marriage, not his family's insane plots to bring two warring guilds together by a marriage that was doomed before it would even begin, and certainly not his friendship with the girl before him.

"And if this is all just a _joke_ to you, Remy..." Rogue opened the car door to step out, "then maybe we should just call it quits right now," she slammed the door hard.

Remy stared after her as she walked towards the trees, her hands in the pockets of her hooded sweatshirt. He didn't know what to make of it. Instinct told him to follow, but sense told him that it might be a bad idea.

_Goddamn it,_ he thought, he slammed his hands against the wheel in frustration with the situation and with himself. He left the car and followed her; he found her standing with her shoulder against the thick trunk of an old tree, her hands still in her pockets, her head low.

Although she had heard his approach, she said nothing to him, she stood there, avoiding his gaze, looking towards the dry ground, pushing dead twigs around with the toe of her sneaker.

"I never _said_ this was all a joke t' me," Remy started off with, he pushed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and stood a few feet away from her.

"Then what _is_ it."

"Does it _matter_ what this is t' me? Right now...I'm more interested in what it is t' _you,_ Rogue."

Her eyes briefly flicked towards him, but she looked down again, she gave a shrug; he wished she'd given at least an answer a little less vague.

"You're _uptight _about this stuff...so why did you suddenly try t' pretend like you _weren't?_"

"Ah don't know," she said sounding exhausted with the whole conversation now, "Ah guess Ah thought it would be funny."

"Yeah, chere, 'cause y' sure look like y' laughin," he remarked. "I don't buy that for a second that y' thought it would be funny; so give me a better explanation than that."

Pushing herself away from the tree, she paced across to another, "You make all these comments, tell all these stories...about how you fucked y' school teacher...how you fucked this Bella Donna girl...how sex is just this random thing that is about getting off, no feelings involved..." she snapped the branch in half. "You talk like you could do it with anyone...anywhere...any time..."

Remy watched the branch as she snapped it; was that branch symbolic of yet another bridge he'd burned with her?

"When it came right down to it...it was _you_ who was scared...it was _you_ who was uptight, _not me," _she dropped the branch pieces on the ground. "You couldn't _follow through._"

"I wasn't _ready. _Neither were _you._"

"Don't tell me what Ah am, Remy, 'cause you don't _know_ me at all."

"I don't _know_ you 'cause you won't let me _in_."

Rogue scoffed, "yeah. Probably the _wisest _decision I ever made."

After a moment of contemplation, Remy spoke. "If y' let me in once in a while...maybe I'd _know_ how to react t' what you say...how you act t' me..." he suggested.

She turned away from him, she kicked the nearest tree stubbornly, "this is so fucked up."

"D' ya wanna call it a day?"

"Hmm?" she asked as she looked over her shoulder.

"'Cause if y' gonna do that, I need t' know _now_ so I can start runnin' for my life."

"If Ah did that, I'd be responsible if anything happened to you," she mumbled. "Ah can't let that happen."

"How would _you_ be responsible?"

"'Cause Ah'm your wife, dumbass."

* * *

The shopping trip was awkward. Through the whole experience Rogue was caught between mentally kicking herself for stupidity, and struggling to make small talk with Remy as they walked through aisles and aisles of clothes and she tried to pick out something that was to her liking.

As she placed a pair of plain black skinny jeans into the cart Remy was pushing, she was scolding herself over and over for her actions in the car.

_It's your own fault,_ she told herself as she walked away from the cart. She'd chosen to keep a few feet behind him at all times so at least he couldn't see the annoyed and upset look on her face while she picked her new clothes. _Shouldn't have let his daddy talk to you that way, should have punched him in the face._

She kept asking herself over and over why she had let Jean-Luc's words bother her so much. The threat of an annulment hung over them, yes, but Remy wasn't about to ruin everything by running off with another woman the minute his needs began to arise.

Was he?

_But he did,_ Rogue thought sullenly as she tossed a long sleeved t-shirt into the cart. _Couldn't even wait 'til _after_ the weddin' night to do it either. _

It had been the constant thoughts of these things that had led her to trying to satisfy his needs – doing whatever it took to make _sure _he had no reason to stray and didn't ruin his chances in getting out of the life his family were set on trapping him in.

But she had discovered to her horror, that not only at that moment was he particularly _not_ interested in having his needs met, but that he was as uncomfortable with the idea of her touching him as she was with the idea of doing it herself.

All of the things he'd said, his little innuendos, his jokes about sex...what were they? Teasing? Sometimes it had seemed to her he'd _wanted_ her to do something extreme. That morning...his talk of erections and offering to let her _look_. What was that? Just more teasing?

For Remy to have gone from teasing and joking about something to practically embarrassed and uncomfortable was...uncharacteristic. Granted, she had not known him long...and had not known him deeply as a friend, but from what she _did_ know from the way he behaved, the way he spoke, that for him to pull away at that moment had been the least Remy-like thing he could have done.

Although there was no romantic feelings lingering between them – at least as far as she could tell – she couldn't help but feel strangely rejected by his reluctance to participate in her attempt to experiment sexually. The embarrassment between the both of them would have been there anyway, why hadn't he just sat there and let it run it's course anyway? It wouldn't have changed anything, would it?

_What did he mean by saying he wasn't ready?_ Rogue wondered, in the next aisle she picked out new pyjamas. Had it just been the wrong place and time? Or was it something else?

Now that she'd already ultimately embarrassed herself and felt that there couldn't possibly be any more humiliation she could possibly feel at this moment in time, she made a beeline for the lingerie section of the store, one hand on the end of the cart as he pushed.

"No man's land," he said as they came across the bra section. "Maybe I should jus' go wait in the car. Y' already have my gold card anyway..."

"No," Rogue grabbed his arm to stop him. "Just stay. Ah don't wanna go at that check out alone and stand there for three quarters of an hour while some ninety-year old man runs things over a scanner."

He sighed.

"Besides, Ah thought you were an _expert_ in this stuff," she added.

Remy rolled his eyes at her.

"Ah'm serious," she said, "You should pick the underwear. You know what women wear for sex. Ah don't. If you want to convince your daddy we're doin' in it, then Ah should at least have somethin' that looks like Ah'm _tryin'. _Stuff Ah can leave lyin' around to make it look like it's just been torn off in the heat of the moment..."

"No," he said firmly.

"Huh?"

"I _don't_ want you leavin' stuff like that around...ever."

"Why?"

"'Cause I don' want Jean-Luc _or_ Henri thinkin' of you wearin' that stuff," he said; there was something quite stubborn about his tone. "It's one thing that they thinkin' we havin' sex, it's quite _another_ if they're fanticizin' about what you look like when you _do_."

"They don't think we're having sex," Rogue said quietly.

"What?"

"At least...Jean-Luc doesn't...Ah don't know what Henri thinks. He keeps himself to himself."

"Wait a minute...what made you think that Jean-Luc _doesn't_ think we're having sex...?" Remy dared to ask.

Rogue sighed, "does it _matter?"_

He frowned, "chere...this is my _life _we're talkin' about here. _My _life on the line. If he's said something..."

She folded her arms and looked away from her husband. Memories of how Jean-Luc had tried to play games with her feelings at lunch time still were fresh in her mind.

"We're _married._ If there be _anyone_ would t'ink y' could at least be honest with, it _me."_

_"_Stop playing the 'marriage card', okay?" Rogue uttered. "And he told me flat out. He knows what _you_ sound like when you're havin' sex apparently and he assured me, that wasn't what he heard upstairs yesterday."

"What else he say?" Remy's eyes were intense with anger; for a moment she felt frightened and wished she had not brought the subject up.

"That he knows about _me_, and that we can't _possibly _be havin' anything other than friendship..." Rogue relayed. "And that Ah should just go and let you get on with the future you're meant to be havin' with the other girl."

"Fuck," he uttered.

"Is it that bad?"

"No, it's not that," he said, he nodded in the direction of the aisles ahead.

"What is it?" she asked, turning.

"Bella Donna."

When Bella Donna Bordereaux came through the two aisles to separate the space between herself and Remy, Rogue couldn't help but feel suddenly anxious as the young woman stalked towards them both, ocean-blue eyes blazing with fury, golden hair glistening under the harsh store lighting.

Remy stepped away from Rogue, and at first Rogue didn't understand why he'd moved away so quickly until Bella Donna went for him like a vicious cat attacking a defenceless mouse. Her fist caught his cheek and Remy's head swung to the left, a splatter of blood hit Rogue in the face and she gasped at the intensity of the petite girl's attack.

"Heh...I guess I saw that one coming..." Remy remarked after staggering back; he raised the back of his hand to his mouth to wipe away the blood on his lips.

"You-" Bella Donna began, taking another step forward, fists curled.

"Do y' really wanna make a scene in the store where your daddy buys his toilet paper?" Remy dared with a smirk.

"Two days before I'm set to walk down the fuckin' aisle! Two fuckin' _days!"_ Bella Donna screamed.

"This happened _months_ ago. It was your stupid ass father and mine who decided to test it otherwise," Remy glanced at the blood on his hand.

"You've fuckin' humiliated me!"

"You humiliated yourself. Don't y' t'ink I knew who made the _suggestion _that the guilds would find peace with the 'holy union of marriage'?" Remy frowned.

Bella Donna went for him again; Rogue had had enough and she jumped into push her hand against the girl's shoulder.

"Leave him alone!" Rogue spat in the girl's face, "touch him again and Ah _swear_ I'll swing for you myself!"

"And this..." Bella Donna took one step back, she laughed absurdly, her eyes twinkled as she does, "this must be the infamous Mrs. LeBeau, the girl who saved y' pathetic daddy's life from my _cousins._"

Rogue clenched her fists hard; she felt Remy's hand land on her shoulder and wondered if he dared to try to hold her back should she try to attack the girl.

"What _were_ you thinkin', chere?" Bella Donna asked of Remy, "marryin'...this..." she gestured to Rogue, "this fuckin' emo tramp."

Rogue went to swing, her husband did indeed pull her back, grabbing onto her arm as well as her shoulder and holding on tightly.

"Don't rise to it," he whispered near her ear. "Don't stoop t' her level."

"Y' must have a new fetish for wrist-cutters."

"That's _enough, _Belle!" Remy warned.

"I guess I won' have to t' wait too long t' marry you, chere," Bella Donna grinned delightedly as she planned her next comment, "she'll probably be dead by suicide before the year is out...sure y' crazy antics and man-whorin' will just bring it on quicker than it looks like it already due!"

"You-!" Rogue tried to move forward, Remy's grip on her was strong, his fingers were digging into the flesh of her arm, she was sure it would probably leave a mark. "Let me go, Remy!"

"Stay calm!" Remy commanded.

"Julien is out for your blood," Bella Donna remarked to Remy, she smirked coldly.

"What else is new?" Remy scoffed, he was massaging Rogue's shoulder, as if he thought that would be enough to calm her down after Bella Donna's cruel and untrue remarks.

"Y' think this _funny,_ don't you! I've been _humiliated_ in front of my whole family 'cause of you, and y' standin' there makin' jokes and bein' all clever and could care less."

"T' be honest," he sighed, "I don't really care at all. I'm over it, I'm over all your bullshit. I found someone else. Get _over_ it."

"Yeah, someone else..." Bella Donna glanced back to Rogue in disbelief, shaking her head and laughing, "You chose _this_ over me!" she gestured wildly to Rogue, her tanned hand came an inch too close to Rogue's face.

Rogue snarled, "touch me and Ah'll kill you."

"As if you could," Bella Donna laughed, her laugh was like tinkling bells but her expression was...burgeoning on insane.

Remy spoke up, "Y' don' really wanna take that chance, Belle"

"I can take her," Bella Donna laughed, "y'all better watch y' backs...Assassins don't forget, chere..."

"Wish T'ieves could," Remy stepped backwards; he noted some security guards on their way to stop the rather loud arguing that was upsetting so many shoppers.

"This ain' over!" Bella Donna warned, her ocean coloured eyes seemed to almost be on fire with her rage.

"Oh, it over. It over and done, and nothin' gon' change it," Remy promised. "I'm married. And not t' you. Might as well get used t' it, Belle. Y' dreams of bein' married t' me and keepin' me under your taloned thumb are squashed."

"She can't give y' what I can," Bella Donna fumed.

"Syphilis?" Rogue queried with a smug smirk.

"You little cunt rag whore!" Bella Donna went towards Rogue; Remy cut between them this time, shoving Rogue out of the way and at the same time catching Bella Donna's arm and holding it up in the air; Rogue could see by the tension in his veins and the whites of his knuckles that he was holding her arm up rather roughly.

"Is there a problem here?" queried one of the security guards, a large burly man with a mullet in a ponytail beneath his 'security' labelled hat.

"Why, yes, sir, there is," answered Remy, he dropped Bella Donna's arm, "this crazy-ass girl here jus' walked up t' me and my wife here, and started attackin' the both of us."

Both security guards took an arm each of Bella Donna's, "Sorry miss, six people complained about your yelling, violence and your obscenities, we have to eject you from the store."

"Get y' hands offa me," she struggled.

"When you get outside, perhaps," remarked the other security guard, he was shorter, chubby, and looked as if he had barely finished high school.

"Jus' you wait..." Bella Donna said over her shoulder at Rogue and Remy as she was pulled away by the two guards, "this ain't over."

"It's over, Belle," Remy said, he slung his arm around Rogue's shoulder and pulled her closer as he spoke, "I love her, and it ain' gonna ever be anyone else _but_ her. Get it through y' thick head. We're _over_."

Rogue raised her eyes to Remy; every time he told someone he loved her the way he said it just reminded her of what a brilliant actor the boy was. She had to remind herself to not fall for it too.

* * *

Remy had taken his turn to make dinner, and Rogue watched him throwing ingredients into a pan as she sat at the kitchen table; she'd done most of the housework, and she couldn't clean out of the living room as Jean-Luc was in there watching some reality show and throwing his empty cans at the television in disgust.

"Hope y' like food real spicy," said Remy as he glanced over his shoulder whilst pushing the chicken in the pan around with a fork.

"Ah don't mind," she answered; from the living room she could hear Jean-Luc yelling obscenities at the television.

"Sooner he drinks himself in t' oblivion, the better," Remy grumbled.

"That's a horrible thing to say," Rogue remarked quietly, she pulled at a loose thread in the thumb of her left glove.

"If y' had spent the last ten years livin' with him, y' would feel diff'rent about that," he admitted coldly.

"How bad does it get?" she queried.

"Worse than this."

"Do you need any help?" Rogue asked, to try and change the subject.

"Y' can maybe throw some salad on some plates – there's a bag of mixed salad in the fridge."

Rogue stood up to get some plates out, "will Jean-Luc be eating with us in here?"

"Fuck that," Remy made a face. "I'll take the plate through t' him...If he's still conscious when it's ready."

"Doesn't he ever go to his bedroom?"

"Only when he brings some hooker home," Remy answered with a bitter tone to his normally smooth voice.

Rogue raised an eyebrow, "he brings prostitutes _here_?" she asked in disgust as she pulled the bag of mixed salad in the fridge; she tore into the bag and began to dish it out onto the four plates she'd set out.

Remy gave a cold laugh, "yes. The real cheap kind."

"Ew."

"It the only time he needs a bed – and privacy. He's happy t' pass out anywhere else in the house – don't matter to him where it's comfortable."

Rogue put the leftover salad back in the fridge, "has he always been like this?"

"An alcoholic? Long as I can remember," he shrugged. "He goes through phases of sobriety, phases of absolute drunkenness where he's very rarely sober at all."

"And this is one of those..." Rogue realised.

Remy paused at the stove, he turned the flame down under the pan, "used t' pour the booze down the sink...hide it...take it offa him when he was so drunk he could barely stand..." he admitted. "I _used_ to worry about him, believe it or not..."

Rogue watched his face all the while as he spoke; there was something there in his expression that told her although he was feigning boredom with the subject, it was a very touchy subject for him. It _hurt_ him to think about it.

"Is it only when he gets drunk when he..." she trailed off, not wanting to put too fine a point on it.

"When he beat me up?" Remy asked candidly, "yes."

"What's he like when he's sober?"

"Less of an asshole, but an asshole nonetheless."

"Ah'm sorry..." Rogue said softly.

"Y' got nothin' t' be sorry 'bout, Chere. Just the luck of the draw. Some people just destined t' fall in t' bad situations...and I've _always _been one of those people."

"You're not destined to be in bad situations," Rogue assured.

"I sure keep get'n myself in t' them."

Tenderly, she brushed her hand against his back; he turned to look at her, his eyes soft as they met with hers. She dropped her hand, flustered, and looked down to the floor, not knowing how to handle his caring glance.

"Anyway," he said with a sigh, he dished out the spiced chicken onto the plates after turning the gas off on the stove. "Probably my own damn fault for being so opportunist."

She set the table as Remy went to take the plates of food to Jean-Luc and Henri. As she set the knives and forks out, she heard Jean-Luc yelling, and she heard what sounded to be a crash. Nervously, she turned on the radio in the kitchen – background noise took the tension out of the room and helped make it more comfortable as she set the plates on the table and took her seat.

Remy returned and sat down quietly, "Henri is sleepin', I left it on his nightstand. Jean-Luc...he...uh...threw it at the wall."

Rogue stood up, "I'll go clean it..."

"No..." he reached over the table and grabbed her wrist, "sit down. I'll deal with it later."

"What was _wrong_ with it?" she asked as she sat back down slowly, she gazed over at him. He looked so flustered, his face red, his mouth pursed.

"He thought I'd poisoned it. He gets paranoid when he's drunk."

Rogue stared down at her plate; the situation had taken away all of her hunger and even though the food looked and smelled delicious, she had no appetite any more.

"Eat," he instructed, he sounded strangely upset as he dug his fork into the chicken and took a bite.

She took one small bite; the chicken was hotter than she had anticipated and she had to pretend as if it hadn't bothered her at all even though her mouth was on fire with the spice.

"Is it too hot?" he asked, noting her expression as she took her second bite.

"It's fine..." she lied, "it's...delicious, actually..."

"I'll make y' something else," he reached for her plate.

"No," she grabbed his hand before it could touch the plate, she held it there. "It's _fine._ I'm just so used to _bland_ stuff back home that this is a surprise, is all."

"Y' sure?" he asked.

"It's fine," she promised.

He stared down at the plate, "I should have just brought frozen pizzas back."

"It's _fine,_" she said again, "It's great..."

Without warning, he picked up his plate and threw it hard towards the sink; the plate shattered, the food sprayed all over the kitchen, pieces of chicken rolled across the counter tops and the floor, a lettuce leaf stuck to the window.

"Remy..."

"Don't!" he warned, "jus' don't!"

"What's wrong?" she asked.

"I don't know," he pushed the chair out and stood; he paced over to the counter, he pressed both hands against the worktop, he shook his head at himself.

Slowly, she got up and walked over in careful steps, trying not to step in pieces of broken plate or loose food. She went to put her hand on his arm but he pushed her hand away and side stepped.

"Don't...okay, just don't," he repeated, this time more forcefully; he made his way to the back door and slammed it behind him. Rogue rushed to the window to watch him walking towards the swamp, his head low, his hands in his pockets.

_What the hell is goin' on?_

* * *

The sun had begun to set over the bayou, the light changing to gold making even the dingiest of swampland seem romantic and welcoming. His legs were swung over the edge of a small pier, his toe brushed some long grass poking it's way through the murky water which seemed to shimmer in the dying light of the sun. He heard her approach, the soft steady stride of her sneakers through the grass as she came to find him, the sounds of each step on the uneven planks of the pier. She came to sit beside him, putting her hands in her lap as she did so.

Remy didn't turn to look at her, even though he knew that the way the light filtered through the mangrove trees probably made her even more stunning than he thought she was already. He stared off along the river, his gaze lost amongst the mangrove and cyprus.

The silence was almost comfortable; she joined him in admiring the view and said nothing for some time.

"I'm sorry about the mess," he finally said.

"Don't worry about it," Rogue replied, her voice quiet, somewhat reserved.

"I'll clean it up."

"It's okay, Ah did it already."

Remy shook his head at himself; he hated himself for this. He hated that he had just...lost it, right there in the kitchen...and right in front of the only person he never wanted to let him see get that mad. And he hated that now he felt awkward with her there.

"What are you shakin' your head at?" she asked.

"Y' shouldn't have t' clean up my mess. That's all y' been doin' since y' came with me...cleanin' up my mess..."

Rogue mused on this, "Well...someone's gotta take care of you."

"D' I look like I need takin' care of?" he asked; it was a rhetorical question of course, and if it hadn't been, then he felt the answer would have been an obvious no anyway. He was surprised when she did reply.

"Yes, actually..." she admitted. "Ah think you really do."

With a defeated sigh, he put his head in his hands. He felt drained and weathered, just like the half-dead trees out there silhouetted from the sun.

Her left hand found his back and she stroked up and down gently; her touch was soothing and welcome, he closed his eyes and tried to pretend like she could massage away his concerns, his troubles, every woe he'd ever had.

"You're gonna get through this..." she promised.

Remy said nothing, he just listened to the sounds of the bayou, the ripple of water, the shift in the long grass along the bank.

He felt her cheek press against his shoulder, and he dropped his hands to look at her finally; her green eyes seemed to take on hints of blue and gold from the light, her hair brown hair sparkled with tones of auburn and gold. The magic light of sunset suited her rather well, not unlike the light of the sunrise he'd proposed to her by.

Rogue swung her eyes slowly towards him, her expression warm and caring, her right hand gently stroked his forearm, gloved fingers brushing the sun-bleached hairs up and down in a caressing motion.

He would have kissed her right then, had it been possible. He moved to put his arm around her and drew her close. "Y' right, chere," he said, "I'll get through it. I jus' need y' t' stick with me...'cause I don't think I can do this alone..."

"Ah'm not goin' anywhere, Remy. Not goin' anywhere at all."

* * *

The LeBeau house was in darkness when they began the walk up to the house just after the sun had set. The house might have once been attractive if it hadn't fallen into so much disrepair. Rogue had to wonder why it had been _left_ to decay in such a fashion, especially having so much potential.

"Henri's car is gone," Remy noted as he passed by the patch of dried damaged grass where his own car was packed. "Guess he went out."

Rogue walked with her arms folded, the air held a slight chill, and the darkening sky was beginning to look cloudy; rain was coming and she could feel it in the air. Although she wished she had the nerve to say to Remy she didn't like his brother very much – what she'd seen of him in the past day - she couldn't bring herself to do so, and so held her tongue, silently glad he was out of the house.

"Guess I should go clean up Jean-Luc's mess," Remy sighed as they entered the house, he switched the light on; the kitchen floor – although dingy – was clean and the dishes were all away, the table wiped, the counters spotless.

"You need a hand?" Rogue asked.

"No, it's okay...I can manage," Remy assured. "He'll start yelling anyway...so..."

Before he could step forward, Rogue couldn't help herself from grabbing his hand and stopping him in his tracks. He turned to look at her questioningly; he looked down at their hands.

It was odd, she hadn't known why she'd stopped him, it had been like an impulse. She didn't _want_ him to go into the living room, for some reason it just felt wrong to let him go alone.

"I'm fine," he assured, "I blew my top, I'm over it."

"You sure?"

"Yes," he nodded, he smirked – although Rogue knew somehow that it was forced – and he raised her hand to kiss it before letting go and leaving the kitchen to head down the hall.

_His daddy is gonna drive him insane,_ Rogue thought. She could almost imagine Jean-Luc starting to yell at him again as he entered the living room. She'd heard it the past two days they'd been there; every time they were in the same room together the yelling would soon follow. Their relationship was volatile and it was painful to witness.

To burn away boredom and being idle, she took the cloth from the sink and wiped over the counters one more time, the smell of disinfectant was still strong from an hour ago when she'd cleared up the mess of dinner and the broken plate. There was something terribly comforting in the smell of pine fresh bleach, she thought; perhaps it was just the suggestion of cleanliness in the otherwise very grotty looking kitchen.

It seemed some time passed, and Remy did not return from the living room. Rogue glanced at the clock sitting on the window sill. Twenty minutes...and he hadn't come to retrieve a broom, or a cloth, or anything to clean up the thrown food.

Tossing the cloth into the sink, she dried her hands on the hips of her jeans as she made her way through the wide hallway. "Remy?" she called out.

He didn't answer, and this only concerned her. Whenever she had called for him while living in this house for the past two days he had _never_ not answered.

"Remy!" she called out again.

The smell of vomit hit her before she even entered the living room. It had been the first time she'd ever attempted to go into the room, it being the room that Jean-Luc dominated with all of his being and it had felt wrong to encroach upon his territory. The food on the wall was the first thing that had caught her eye; pieces chicken and lettuce clung to the wall, the sauce had trickled down and stained the old fashioned floral wallpaper.

As she turned to look around, she saw her new husband standing, his back to her; he was still like a museum statue, arms hanging loosely at his sides. He was standing in front of the couch, obscuring her view of Jean-Luc LeBeau's face.

"Remy, what is it?" she asked, she walked over and took his arm to pull him back a little.

The vomit was all over the floor, in substantial amounts which made her want to be sick herself; but it wasn't the sight of this that had seemed to have stunned Remy into this odd stillness of his.

Jean-Luc LeBeau was an odd colour; his skin seemed almost pale blue-green in the bad lighting, his eyes closed, the trail of vomit halfway down the couch cushion. Was he even breathing? Had he choked?

"Remy..." Rogue said, kneeling awkwardly beside the couch trying to avoid getting puke on her jeans.

"He ain' breathin'..." Remy's voice came out in a shuddering whispering that caught in the back of his throat.

Rogue leaned close to the man's face, the smell of alcohol, vomit and something like bad cologne trying to mask the smell of stale sweat made her want to heave again, and she swallowed her sickness and tried to listen. "No...he's breathing...but real slow..." she glanced up at Remy; he was pale and frightened, his eyes were wide, his mouth trembling.

"Hey!" she smacked Jean-Luc's face hard to try and bring him out of whatever state he had drunk himself into. "Snap out of it!"

No response, nothing.

"He's out cold," Rogue said, she smacked him again, harder this time; she was sure he would feel it the next again day. "He's all clammy..." she ran her hand across the stubbly dirty cheek and saw wetness on the fingers of her gloves.

Why was Remy just _standing_ there when he should have done something like phone an ambulance, or try to help her get his father conscious.

"We need to get him to a hospital," Rogue said, "Ah think this is alcohol poisonin'..."

Remy took one step back, slow, shaking.

"Don't just stand there! Call an ambulance or something..."

He looked helpless, confused, like a deer in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"Get him to the car or somethin'!" Rogue yelled at him, "He's gonna die if you don't move your ass!" she warned.

It was the warning of his death that seemed to snap Remy out of it it; "the keys...they...they in the kitchen on the windowsill..."

Rogue rushed to get the keys, she heard Remy struggling to pull the limp unconscious Jean-Luc up from the couch to move up to the car outside. They went through the back door together, Jean-Luc slung over Remy's shoulder like a rag doll.

"Ah'll drive," Rogue said, "You ain't in any condition...to drive anywhere."

* * *

~ End of Part 6 ~

Thanks to everyone who's been adding me and reviewing, I can't believe so many people have shown interest in this story (I was afraid no one would). I'm still in the process of looking for a beta so please excuse the mess the story is in at the moment.


	7. Part Seven

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Seven ~

~ Not Fine ~

* * *

Hospitals always made Rogue uneasy and there was something quite institutional about this one. The paint on the wall in the waiting room might have not gone amiss in a Prison hallway, she thought. The normal 'take care of your health' posters didn't do much to 'brighten' the place up, and the stack of magazines on the coffee table were dated as far back as 1980.

"Hey, look at this," Rogue said, in an attempt to cheer up Remy, she flapped a magazine in front of him "Charles and Diana got married...wonder what the queen had to say about that?"

Remy gave a vague bemused snort, but Rogue could see his mind was elsewhere. They were waiting to hear how Jean-Luc was. He'd been taken in nearly two hours ago and so far no one had made any attempt to update them on the man's condition.

Rogue threw the magazine on the table and sighed, "he's gonna be fine."

"What if he's not?" Remy asked quietly as he looked down at his hands absently, he picked away at a split fingernail to distract himself.

Honestly, she didn't have an answer. She wouldn't have believed that Remy would have _cared_ at all if Jean-Luc had died but his reaction in the living room...and the way he'd acted to her commands in the car to try and keep Jean-Luc conscious – although it had mostly been a wasted effort.

Chills swept over her as she remembered barely getting Jean-Luc out of the car when the man had started to seize and fit right there in the parking lot. How horrifying it had been to try and keep his head to the ground so he didn't accidentally split his head open on the asphalt, how horrifying it had been to hear him starting to choke on his own vomit just before a couple of paramedics had arrived from the emergency entrance doors to help.

_Stop thinking about it,_ she warned herself.

"I wanted him dead...should be happy, right?" Remy asked, he raised his hand to his mouth and bit his split fingernail off, he spat it out to the floor.

"Ah know you didn't mean it," Rogue said quietly.

"I did," he looked away from him, "that's what so terrible 'bout it."

"You _thought_ you meant it, Remy. If you _had_ meant it...you wouldn't feel so bad right now," she promised.

"Stop _forgivin'_ me, Rogue. I don't deserve it," he said angrily. "Stop tryin' t' make me feel like everythin' I do or say is justifiable or that it's easily _swept_ under the carpet."

"Since when did Ah _ever_ give you the assumption Ah _forgave_ you for anything?"

"You just _do!_ You get mad at me, then you're nice to me, and then you're trying to act like everything is all hunky dory."

"Are you sayin' Ah _shouldn't_ be nice to you?" Rogue asked carefully.

"I'm saying I don't deserve your sympathy, and I don't deserve your forgiveness, I don't deserve _anythin'_," he hissed.

Rogue stared down at the floor; the sudden turning of his moods today kept catching her off guard.

"Ain't y' gonna yell at me?" he dared.

"Why? Why would Ah yell, you're the one who's mad, not _me._"

"I'm not _mad,_" he retorted quickly, "I'm..."

"Scared."

Remy stood and paced over to the window of the waiting room; it stared out into the parking lot where he could see his car beneath the light of the lampposts.

"It's _okay_ to be scared, Remy."

"Why? Why should I be scared. Why should I feel _anythin'_ for him other than _hatred?_" Remy demanded, he slammed his hands against the windowsill.

Rogue was glad that they were the last people in the waiting room; being in the unfamiliar space was unsettling enough without having to justify his anger to a bunch of waiting room people.

"He's a horrible human bein', chere," Remy said, his voice lost the edge of it's anger. "There are things y' cant imagine that man did. Some things that made me _think_ he deserve to die..."

"But you don't want him to?"

"Do I want _freedom?_ Yes...do I want someone to _die_ for it?" he asked, he shook his head. "No. Not even his sorry ass."

"Mrs. LeBeau?"

Rogue stood to see the female doctor there, a chart in her arm. "Yes?"

"Your father is-"

Rogue spoke up immediately, gesturing for Remy to join her near the door. "My father-in-law. My husband's father," she gestured to Remy.

"I'm sorry," the doctor forced a sympathetic smile. "He's suffering from severe alcohol poisoning. He was incredibly dehydrated and close to death. When we got him to the emergency room, he was already seizing...and could barely breathe"

"He was seizing in the parking lot," Rogue explained, "we did our best to try and hold him down while screamin' for help. The paramedics came pretty quick."

"You reacted very well...most kids your age don't know how to deal with something like this," the Doctor smiled.

"So how is he now?" Rogue asked, hugging herself, a cold chill sweeping over her; she felt Remy's arm curl around her back.

"We had to intubate him, he was going into respiratory failure, but he's breathing on his own now. We have him on Haemodialysis...his blood alcohol limit was _dangerously_ high."

"I'm sorry..." Remy shook his head, "what that mean? Haemodi...what?"

Rogue spoke up, "they're filtering his blood."

The doctor nodded.

"Will he be alright?" Remy asked, his voice thick with emotion.

"He'll be ill for days. We'll rehydrate him and treat him. We'd also like to check his liver while he's here; his yellowing eyes and some slight clubbing of his fingers suggests he may already have cirrhosis, so we'd like to test him further..."

"That's fine..." Remy said quietly.

"Would you like to see him?"

"No," Remy said, shaking his head, "not right now..."

"I understand," the Doctor nodded, her smile slight but caring. "It can be hard to see a parent in such a condition. You can return tomorrow, visiting hours are two until three, and seven until eight."

"We'll be back," Rogue assured.

The doctor excused herself and left the room, Rogue turned towards Remy to examine his expression. He looked genuinely upset.

"See...he's fine."

"Yeah. Except they clearin' out his blood so he can go do it again," Remy despaired. "C'mon...I wanna go home."

* * *

When Rogue drove the car up the dirt drive to park outside of the back of the house, she wasn't surprised to see Henri's car was still absent from it's space. Remy said nothing regarding the matter as he got out of the car slowly and exhaustedly, the car door slamming dully behind him.

Rogue locked the car and joined him to walk up the steps at her husband's side, there was a strange uncomfortable silence between them as they did so. It felt awkward standing beside him as Remy unlocked the back door to go inside.

It was hard to know what to say to comfort him, it was hard to know _not_ what to say to anger or upset him. It hit her as ironic they were married and they hardly knew each other at all. Friends they may have been, but they were still strangers, and whatever she knew about Remy LeBeau, it wasn't enough to be there for him in the way it seemed he needed someone to be.

The lights were still on from when they'd left; everything remained as it had been. Remy glanced around the kitchen as he placed his house keys on the windowsill near the door, his expression almost deadened. Rogue watched him; it was as if he didn't know where to go or what to do any more...she imagined him feeling like a stranger in his own house.

"Ah'll go clean up the living room," she said, heading for the closet to get some cleaning supplies.

"Don't bother...I'll do it," he sighed.

"No," Rogue said firmly. "Go upstairs...and...Ah dunno...and run a bath, take a while to lie and relax. It's been a rough day and you need to wind down."

"I'm _fine_."

She heard the lie in his voice, she could see the lie in the lines on his forehead, the way his nose crinkled when he frowned.

"You're not _fine_. Go unwind and go to bed. Ah'll take care of this," she used her most direct and authoritative tone; it was an order, not a suggestion.

He didn't seem happy with her tone, but he didn't argue and she was glad he seemed too tired to do so. She was glad for that short while to be alone so she could try to deal with the situation herself. The whole thing left her wanting to scream; she considered calling Logan to beg him to come and get her right now, take her back to Bayville. Take them _both_ back to Bayville.

Rogue hated every moment of having to clean the living room; the smell sickened her to the point she almost threw up a little herself. She sprayed the rug with as much disinfectant she could with the hope it wouldn't bleach the colour out of it. The wallpaper was still stained with the food Jean-Luc had thrown earlier, but the new stains seemed quite at home with all the other stains that had lived there for years.

After cleaning, she peeled off her rubber gloves and disposed of them and the cloths into the garbage before heading upstairs. The upstairs hallway was in complete darkness other than a stream of light coming from the open bathroom door. Rogue peered around the door to check on Remy in the bathtub. He was lying on his side, one arm sprawled over the edge of the tub, his cheek against it. He looked so tired and distant; she'd never seen him like this and she couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with it.

"You okay?" she asked softly.

"Fine," he said. With each effort he made to lie to her the strength seemed to drain out of him more and more. She stepped in, trying to avoid staring directly into the clear water and she knelt by the tub.

"You don't have to keep telling me you're fine, Remy."

His eyes shifted towards her, "y' were really great, y'know."

"Hmm?"

"The way y' knew what t' do. Way y' kept me tryin' t' keep him conscious in the car. The way y' held him down when he took a fit..."

Rogue hugged her knees, she let her back rest against the body of the tub; she could feel the heat from the water through the enamelled metal.

"Y' didn't even panic," Remy admitted.

Rogue turned to look at him, "Inside Ah was," she admitted. Truthfully, she had been. Truthfully it had been terrifying and she had been scared not for herself, but for Remy. It had been _his_ reaction that had left her feeling so panicked inside as she tried to desperately save the life of his adoptive father.

"I...I didn' know what t' do. He never been like that b'fore. Was like I couldn' _move..._was like..._bein' in a trance_."

_Was only a matter of time before Jean-Luc nearly ended up killin' himself,,_ thought Rogue.

"Y' a hero, chere. Y' savin' my life, y' saved his..." he sighed. "Must be nice t'...know y' accomplish somethin' that means somethin' t' someone."

She gave a shrug, she stared down at the floor tiles and wondered how much bleach it would take to get them looking completely clean again.

"I'm glad I married y', chere. I know y' can't exactly say _the _same."

Rogue turned around and knelt up. "Yeah, well...Ah don't think at this point even Bella Donna would be glad to be married to you," she teased. She grabbed the washcloth from the edge of the bath where it had been hanging and she soaked it in the bathwater, squeezed most of the water out, then swept it across Remy's forehead.

He closed his eyes and sighed at the tenderness of this act; it reminded her of that brief moment in the hotel on the morning after their wedding. A simple moment that seemed more intimate than a thousand words could ever explain. He rolled onto his back, his arms resting against each edge of the tub; he stared up to the ceiling, his expression sad and troubled.

With tender affection, she smoothed the cloth along his shoulder and arm, taking the time to caress the soft wet fabric across his knuckles to sweep over each long tapered finger.

In a quiet almost whisper, he announced, "y' soothe me so much, chere.." he confessed. "No one ever make me feel half o' what you do."

She stopped to stare at him; the way he said it _told_ her he was being genuine...and she wanted him to be. But then she remembered how _raw_ he was right now, how completely devastated he had been at the hospital while waiting to know if his adoptive father had survived a severe bout of alcohol poisoning. It wasn't the right time for him to be speaking of those types of feelings.

_He's vulnerable...he's looking for some kind of comfort and I just can't give him that,_ Rogue thought. She stood up, placing the washcloth on the edge of the bath.

"Ah'm really beat...Ah think Ah'm gonna go lie down now..."

Remy didn't seem surprised that she didn't have a real response to his revelation; it almost seemed as if he had expected it. It was hard to walk away and leave things like that between them, Rogue felt, but there just seemed to be no other option.

* * *

The weather was wild out when Rogue awakened in the early hours of the morning, still wearing the clothes she'd worn all day. It had not been until she had sat on the edge of the bed to merely rest for a moment that she had realised that exhaustion had been pulling on her heavily like a huge weight. She'd merely lay down for what she'd promised would be just a moment or so to rest until she could be bothered to get into her pyjamas. That had been just quarter to midnight and now she found as she glanced towards the digital alarm clock on the night stand it was quarter to four. The sky had begun to turn and outside she could hear the wind in the trees and the heavy rain pelting off the window.

She felt Remy at her back, his soft even breath tickling the back of her neck in his close proximity; it wasn't until she leaned up just a little that she felt his arm draped over her and it surprised her that this had not stirred her from her slumber. She rolled slowly onto her back, careful not to wake him up and glanced over at him; in the semi-darkness she could see his sleep was troubled.

It had never occurred to her – even after having had a brief glimpse into his mind before – that Remy LeBeau's life might have been worse than her own. For all his bravado and charm, his wit and cunning, there lay something deeper there that she hadn't expected.

He was _damaged_, and she would have never _expected_ to discover such a thing about a boy who had seemed so...confident and together, so practically independent and happy with life.

Part of her – the curious part – wanted to touch him, to take off her glove and truly touch him and get inside his mind to know why he was so damaged, to know if this went much further than just experiencing the rage of an alcoholic father.

Would he ever _know_ if she touched him? If he slept would he _feel_ that touch? Would he feel pain or the wrath of her powers? Was it really _worth_ ruining their relationship to take that chance?

_No,_ she thought, listening to his breathing, watching the rise and fall of his body with each one. _Ah couldn't do that to him...it wouldn't be fair. He can't protect himself...it'd be like breaking into his mind without his consent...it's not right._

Then of course, there was the added threat that if she _did_ use her powers that the Professor might be able to locate her on cerebro...and trace her to here where she would surely be dragged back to Bayville. She wasn't sure what would happen if this did occur...even if Remy did go with her, she had to wonder if his family would be safe? Would the Assassins even trace Remy back to Bayville? Could they really get through the X-Men's security to get to him and destroy him for his dishonour to both guilds?

A muted slamming sound caught Rogue's attention; it sounded like the door of a car closing. Curiously, she slipped away from Remy's arm and she moved to the window to stare outside.

Henri LeBeau's jeep – no doubt a stolen one at that – was parked out front and she could hear the sounds of keys jangling below although she could not see if Henri was there or not from the porch roof obscuring her view.

Rogue left the bedroom, yawning as she stared over the railing to look down into the downstairs hallway as Henri left the kitchen; the light from the kitchen pouring out into the dark hall, silhouetting him as he walked to the living room, then back out.

"Remy!" he called.

Rogue reached over to switch on the upstairs hallway lights, "He's sleeping."

"Dad go out or somethin'?" Henri gazed up at her, his brown eyes were glazed; it looked as if he'd been drinking...or taking something.

"No," Rogue replied; she made her way quietly down the stairs to meet with Remy's adoptive brother. "He's in hospital."

"What the hell are you blabbin' about?" Henri asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Alcohol overdose. You didn't even check on him _before_ you left, did you? We found him by a pool of his own vomit just barely breathin'."

"I don't believe you," Henri shook his head.

"If you call the hospital, they'll tell you where he is."

"You're foolin' me, right?"

"Do Ah _look_ like Ah'm fucking jokin'?" Rogue demanded angrily. "Remy is stressed out, he found him in that state, and the least _you_ coulda done was checked on him before you left to go out wherever you been all night."

"He _never_ need checkin', he knows his limits."

"Apparently not enough," Rogue shook her head as she made her way to the kitchen; she heard Henri follow hot on her heels.

"How is he?"

"He's on haemodialysis," Rogue answered, she went to the stovetop coffee pot by the sink and went to filling the steel filter with ground coffee she and Remy had bought on their first grocery shopping trip together.

"What that mean?" Henri asked; he seemed suddenly pale as he sat at the table.

"It _means_ they're filtering all the crap out of his blood. His blood alcohol level was off the _charts. _He took a seizure in the parkin' lot and they had t' help him breathe 'cause he went into respiratory failure. Doesn't exactly _sound_ like a man who knows his alcohol limit, does it?"

Henri stared down at the table blankly.

Rogue filled the coffee pot with water and slipped the steel filter in before putting it on the stove and putting the gas burner on. "They're gonna keep him in for a few days to do some testin'. He might have cirrhosis."

Henri turned and glanced up at her, his expression lost, "that's what my Grandfather died of."

"Shocker," mumbled Rogue.

"He was _fine_ earlier. Just his usual _yelling_ self."

"Yeah...y'know that alcohol poisinin' can _make_ people angry? Alcohol is like any _other_ drug, it has negative effects, it can make anyone volatile."

"He wasn't _volatile,_" Henri insisted.

"He threw a goddamn plate at Remy earlier...you don't call _that_ volatile?"

"Remy probably _deserved_ that for bein' such a smart ass."

"Whatever," Rogue grumbled, she leaned her back against the counter and folded her arms. "Your daddy has a wild temper and one of these days Remy gonna snap and try to kill him himself," she warned. "Remy's not gonna stand around and take it forever, you know."  
"Y' talkin there like y' think y' know him better than we do. How long y'know him? All of three month?"

"A few years," Rogue replied truthfully. "We've been seein' each other for over a year on and off...and we've been married for five months. He's closer to _me_ than any of y'all."

"I'm not so sure 'bout that," Henri remarked. "I'm not so sure y' know Remy all that well either..."

"I don't care what you think, _Henri,_" Rogue hissed.

"What Remy's date o' birth, chere?"

"He doesn't _know_ his official date of birth. He knows he was _eight_ when your father found him...on the first of November, two-thousand." She'd had to work this out for herself, and she hoped to god it was the _right_ answer.

"What about scars...birthmarks...?" Henri tested.

"He has a scar on his left nut...from when he fell on a scaffold when he was fourteen. He also has a mole under his arm, and a tattoo on his right hip..."

"Of?"

"A spade and a heart," she replied.

"And what that mean?" Henri tried, his expression smug.

She had to improvise; he hadn't told her what it meant, but he also hadn't told _Henri_ either. She remembered that much.

"Well?" Henri queried.

"The spade is him, the heart is me."

Henri examined her face for any trace of lie; she wasn't sure if he could spot the lie or not, but she tried to remain calm as she could. He took something of his pocket and raised it to his lips, a lighter coming out of the other pocket.

Rogue spotted the joint immediately and snatched it from him. "Ah don't think so, buster," she snapped, crushing it in her hand, "you ain't sittin' there getting'stoned in _this_ kitchen."

"This my goddamn house!" Henri raged.

"Ah don't care. You ain't doin' drugs in front of me."

"Bitch," Henri uttered as he stood up.

"Dopehead," she uttered as she tossed the broken joint into the sink and turned on the faucet so it was beyond all salvage.

"What the fuck?" he demanded.

"Your daddy is lyin' in hospital from alcohol poisinin' and all you can think about is getting high and tryin' to contest my marriage to your brother? You have issues, LeBeau, and Ah'm not takin' your shit."

"Y' in _my_ house,_ chere. _I'm the eldest son, _I'm _the one in charge while dad away, _not_ you or Remy. If y' don' like that..."

"Now isn't that a _funny_ thing," Rogue began, "that _you're_ the eldest...and yet _Remy_ is the one your daddy picked to marry to an Assassin?"

"Remy is disposable, chere, that the only reason he was picked."

"Either that or he's the only dependable one in your fucked up family," Rogue smirked.

Henri rolled his eyes at her, "get the fuck out of my house, chere, before I _throw_ y' out."

"Just try it, Henri. Just try it," she dared.

Without another word, Henri left the kitchen; the door slammed behind him and thanks to it having only been hanging on one hinge to begin with, fell off completely with a loud bang. Rogue stared as she exhaled a deep sigh, and hoped that the noise hadn't awakened her poor sleeping husband upstairs.

* * *

When Remy woke at seven that morning feeling somewhat disorientated with what felt like a hangover headache without the benefit of being drunk the night before. Everything from the night before had been something of a blur as if he _had _been drunk. The sight of his adoptive father, the rushing to save him, the waiting and worrying – it all seemed as if it might have been a dream...a crazy nightmare that he had just awakened from.

Rubbing his head, he sat up with a sigh, glancing around the room looking to see if Rogue was still in the room. "Chere?" he asked hopefully, noting his bedroom door was wide open, but there was no sign of the girl he'd married.

He left the room, noting the smell of marijuana permeating the hallway. _Guess Henri been toking the waccy baccy,_ he thought in disdain as he stumbled tiredly downstairs, rubbing the sleep crusts out of his eyes. He could hear the television in the living room, and for one moment thought possibly that his father might have discharged himself from the hospital before completing his tests or treatment.

Entering the living room, he found Rogue kneeling on the floor scrubbing the sofa cushions, a bucket of soapy water at her side.

"Mornin'," he said sleepily.

"Did Ah wake you?" she asked, raising her eyes to him as she dipped the cloth in the soapy water and wrung it out.

"No," he replied. "Is the couch that bad?" he asked.

"It smells like..."

"Piss?"

"Yeah, among other things," Rogue wrinkled her nose. "Ah found cat shit behind it."

"Fuckin' cats," Remy grumbled, "I ain't even _seen_ 'em since I got back."

"Ah haven't even seen any sign of _cat food _in the house...Ah don't think Ah saw any food bowls or anythin' either...you sure they still live here?"

"They probably livin' outside t' hunt. Plenty mice and birds out there for them t' feast on."

"They're your brothers cats, why ain't he lookin' after them?"

"He barely looks after himself."

Rogue rubbed hard on the upholstery, "He got in at like...four this mornin'...didn't know about Jean-Luc or anythin'. Ah told him all of what we were told, then he proceeded to take out a marijuana cigarette."

Remy feigned a faint smile at this, "What you do?"

"Yanked it outta his hand, tossed it in the sink and soaked it."

"Bet that pissed him off," Remy smirked more genuinely this time, he was quite amused by the thought of Rogue standing her ground and refusing to stand back and let Henri smoke his drugs in the house. It made him so incredibly proud of his new wife.

"Yeah. He got _real_ pissed off," Rogue replied. "Can you fix the kitchen door? He kinda broke it in his tizzy."

"Sure," Remy nodded, he sat on the arm rest of the sofa to watch her for a moment. "Need t' go up to the Hardware store and get some tools first though...I think ours got sold for drinkin' money."  
Rogue's face was sour, she looked away and shook her head sadly at this.

"Don't get y' self lookin' all sympathetic and disgraced. I'm used t' this by now."

"How can you _live_ like this?"

"I don't. It's why I avoid comin' home as much as I can."

"Not much of a home," Rogue admitted softly.

"No shit."

"Where does all the money go? You're _thieves,_ surely you must have made a lot of money..."

"Henri and Jean-Luc gamble, they go to hookers, they drink..." he shrugged. "I could bring in Five-hundred grand in every other month from working my ass off at what I do...but what's the point? They can piss away that money in a heartbeat."

Rogue could barely believe her ears that anyone could burn away so much money and still have not at least had the decency to upgrade their home or clean it up with some of that cash.

"Are...you gonna go see your daddy later?" she asked casually.

"No," he said, he smoothed down the curled up edge of the rug with his bare toes. "And I don't think y' should go, either. Let Henri run t' his side..." he uttered.

"The whole house is reekin' of that weed of his...it's givin' me a headache," Rogue admitted.

"Me too," he sighed, he picked at a loose fabric on the upholstery of the backrest on the couch. His mind drifted back to seeing Jean-Luc lying there...that sense of panic he'd had as he stood where Rogue was kneeling right now. The thought of it made his stomach knot and churn all at once.

Rogue watched him momentarily, he felt her eyes boring into him as if she could penetrate him and see right through to his wounded soul. She dropped the cloth into the bucket and sighed. "Y'know...forget fixin' anything or cleanin' anything or tryin' to make this place more _habitable,_" she stood up. "Lets take off for a few hours...find somewhere to take our minds off things, huh?" she offered.

Remy wasn't sure he _could_ take his mind off things, but her offer was tempting; the chance to be away from this disgusting place, to be away from all of his family, it was incredibly appealing. She stood before him and he reached out to take her hips in his hands and pull her closer to him. She looked down unsure as her right knee hit the front of the couch.

"Remy, Ah-"

"C'mere..." he murmured, his hands slid to the small of her back and he pulled her forwards so that she would straddle his thighs. "Chere, y' really sweet t' me, and I jus' wanna-"

He hadn't expected the couch to tip over; both their weights on the one slightly uneven end of the couch had been enough to throw them to the floor unceremoniously quite unexpectedly. As he leaned up from the floor, he rubbed his head – which he'd felt slam against the floorboards – and looked at the couch which was now back in it's original position as if nothing had ever happened.

Rogue groaned as she sat up, "that hurt."

Although it hadn't been all that funny, Remy began to laugh hard and loud, which sent Rogue into fits of giggles. And for several moments Remy was laughing without cause until he was breathless, sides aching; the two of them continued to laugh for several minutes. Perhaps it was just the tension or perhaps it had just been that need to outburst with some emotion whether it be laughter or otherwise but Remy suddenly felt much better. Feeling in a slightly better frame of mind – at least for that moment – he got up from the floor and grabbed her wrist to help her up.

"You're right. Lets get out of here for a while. When even the world's oldest grubbiest couch don't _want_ you, it's time to depart."

"Ah couldn't agree more."

* * *

Getting out of the LeBeau house consisted of a drive to some of the more scenic swamp land that Remy's homeland had to offer. Past tall grand houses and plantations with gory pasts and notable histories of the civil war.

It seemed to Rogue that the longer he kept on talking, the more he seemed to relax and the frown lines she'd seen on his forehead that morning seemed to have disappeared completely. She rolled her window down completely and leaned out just a little to feel the air sooth her warm cheeks on the hot summer day.

"Think I'm runnin' out of places t' show you," Remy admitted, his hand steady on the wheel, his shoulders relaxed, his t-shirt tinged with sweat.

"Just keep drivin'," Rogue suggested.

"Y' don't mind?" he asked.

"It's so nice out...it's a great day for a drive."

"There's a greasy spoon about thirty or so miles away from here...we could go there for a bite before turnin' back."

_Do we have to go back ? _Rogue asked, she frowned just a little. Staying out for the rest of the day was out of the question although nothing was to technically _keep _them from staying away. Henri could take of himself, presumably and the house would be fine.

_But he needs to go see his daddy,_ Rogue thought as she glanced towards Remy. She wanted to bring the subject up but knew without a doubt that it would dampen his mood which already seemed much lighter and jovial again.

She wondered if she should just let it go, just let him keep his distance from the man, it seemed to keep him happier the further away he was from the man. It still didn't seem right though to not pay the man a visit in hospital, and she wondered if she allowed Remy to stay away, would he begin to feel guilty about staying away?

A drop of water hit the windscreen and for a moment, Rogue thought perhaps they had driven into a puddle of some sort, but when other droplets followed further up the road, she realised that it was beginning to rain; the air seemed to cool almost incidentally and the sky was beginning to go grey. Leaning her head out of the window to look up, she saw no threat of rain clouds, however, as she looked behind her, she saw the billowing of dark grey clouds burgeoning on black.

"Oh fuck..." Rogue whispered.

"What is it?"

"Fast movin' storm," she said, "it's gonna pour."

"We can probably beat it."

"Ah don't think so..." she leaned back in and rolled the window up, the sky began to darken and so did the interior of the car. The bulk of rain came down in a sudden heavy torrent, the windscreen instantly obscured by the pelting and running of water. Remy flicked on the wipers, they did little against it.

"Pull over..." Rogue commanded, "You can't drive in this."

Remy slowed the car, "y' right," he moved onto the rest stop at the edge of the road to keep out of the way of any other oncoming traffic. "Came on so fast."

"That's why they _call_ it a fast movin' storm," she made a face at him.

"Yeah...I get that..." he turned the wipers off but he checked the radio; he couldn't find a signal. "Guess we're too far out," he switched the radio off and turned off the ignition.

The rain was heavy, it sounded almost like tiny rocks were hitting the metal roof, not water.

"I guess you're used t' this," Remy admitted, stared out of his side window but couldn't see much other than the stretch of road and the rain. "What with y' friend Storm controllin' the weather and everything."

"Yeah. She can really bring down some nasty weather if she's in a bad mood," Rogue stated softly, her breath misted the window as she leaned near it to look out.

"Guess we just need to wait this out. It'll probably be over soon enough.".

"Yeah," she nodded; she gazed through the window to watch the heavy rain, the sound it made was soothing, the rumble of thunder somewhat reassuring.

"Wanna play a game, chere?" he asked absently.

"Okay," she shrugged.

"I spy?"

"Good enough for me."

"I spy...with my little eye...something beginning with...R."

"Rain," she answered.

"You win," he nodded. "Your turn."

"Okay..." she smirked, "I spy...with _my_ little eye, something beginning with...M."

"More rain?"

"Your turn," she grinned.

"I spy with my little eye...something beginning with...E."

"Even more rain."

"Wow, we're great at this game. There should be championships for people like us," he beamed. "What you want to play now?"

"Dunno..." she shrugged. "Got your cards?"

"Not on me," he confessed. "Generally I don't leave the house without 'em but I didn't figure I'd be needing projectiles today. I probably have some in the trunk..." he offered.

"Yeah, well, _Ah'm_ not getting out."

"Me neither..."

"Okay, so...cards is out of the question. Thumb wrestle?"

"Nah, that's borin'," he made a face.

"Rock paper scissors?"

"Not very time consuming," he propped his elbow on the door and let his head rest in his open hand.

"You suggest somethin'," she offered.

"Truth or dare?"

"Don't be stupid."

"How about if I get the cards, we play strip poker?" he smirked.

"In your dreams."

"Who told you about those?" he teased.

"You talk in your sleep," she replied.

"Do I?" he asked, his expression curious.

She smirked, "No, but for a minute there Ah had you goin'."

He gave a soft laugh and shook his head at her.

"Can Ah ask somethin'?"

Remy absently stared at the steering wheel, he traced his finger along the bumps of the hard plastic wheel. "Anythin'," she replied nonchalantly.

"What was it about _yesterday_ that was so...wrong?" she asked shyly.

"Hmm?"

"In the car. On the way to the store," she averted her eyes from him as she spoke, and only when she had finished would she look at him again.

With a look of realisation on his face, he stopped what he was doing, his head raised slightly. He said nothing.

"I've been rackin' my _brain_ tryin' to figure out _why_ it was so weird. You're all easy breezy with me one minute about sex, the next you're pullin' away from me. I just..."

"Hmm?" he asked.

"Ah want to _know_ what Ah did wrong...'cause...you gave me the impression..."

"What impression?"

"That you were _up for anything_."

He sighed, "It wasn't that y' did somethin' _wrong_."

"Then what?"

"When I make all those comments t' you...I flirtin', that's all, I'm bein' playful, I'm tryin' t' get y' comfortable with me...I don't _expect_ y' to respond, and I already _know_ long before I say how y' generally gonna react..."

"So that's all this is then? Just...innocent flirtin' that's never intended to go anywhere?"

"I-"

"And you're not interested at all..." she stated.

He stopped, "I didn' say that," he turned to her and gave her a dose of his eyes, dark and deep, the expression was intense...hard to read. "Part of me...it's interested. Part of me is oh so _really _interested."

"But?"

"But the other part of me...says _no_. It say I should _wait."_

"Wait for _what_ exactly?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"For y' t' decide to let me in t' y' life."

* * *

She wasn't sure what he meant by his comment. After the rain cleared, they began the journey back and Rogue thought about Remy's words the whole time. What did he _mean_ by he wanted to be _let into her life_. She didn't quite understand how she _wasn't_.

How could it be that she had spent six days with him now and he could _still_ feel like she hadn't let him into her life? It confused her immensely and she felt that this would trouble her all night too.

Her mind drifted to the events of the night before again as she tried to take her mind away from thoughts of Remy and his want to be in her life.

_Wonder how Jean-Luc is doin'...wonder if they tested him for Cirrhosis yet,_ she pondered. She glanced to Remy and wondered how he would take the news if it turned out his adoptive father _did _have such a serious condition. She imagined he would try to be blasé; water off a ducks back. But then his behaviour from last night suggested that somewhere inside he would be devastated with the news, even if he _did_ hate Jean-Luc with a fiery passion that is only saved for very hurt boys for their very emotionally abusive alcoholic fathers.

"Remy?" she asked quietly.

"Hmm?" he asked, driving, his eyes on the road.

"Ah think we should go to see your daddy."

Remy sighed, "No. I told you, I ain't goin' t' see his sorry ass."

"Remy, he's really ill, he could probably use a visit."

"Then let mon _frere_ visit him. I ain' goin."

"Fine," Rogue said, "then you can drop me off at the hospital and pick me later," she crossed one leg over the other and folded her arms.

"Why would you even wanna go _see_ that selfish prick?"

"Because Ah wanna _check_ on him. Remy, he's alone up there, and like it or _not_ he's still your father..."

"He's just a _guy_ who took me in, that don't make him a _father_," Remy snapped.

"Then you don't _have_ to see him. Ah'll go alone, and make sure he's alright, get some news from the doctor on his condition. You can wait in the _car_ if you like."

Remy sighed and shook his head at her, "why it gotta be like this?"

"Remy, admit it, you're worried. If you don't wanna go in there 'cause of some stupid pride or dignity or somethin', then fine, you don't have to. But Ah will. Ah can't just let him lie up there without knowin' what's goin' on. It's part of _me,_ it's part of what Ah do as an _X-Man._"

"Fine," he grumbled. He swerved the car down a junction and began to head for the hospital.

The rest of the drive felt...frosty. His attitude had changed and he was no longer relaxed or as nonchalant as he had been when they had begun the journey back after their talk while parked. She wondered how long these mood swings of his were going to continue for and if perhaps they were a grounds for annulment?

It had started to pour rain again by the time they had arrived at the small hospital just outside of the nearest town just past seven pm. Rogue glanced at the clock and couldn't believe they had been driving around all day; the fact they had been away from the house for so long only made her more uncomfortable with the idea of having to go back there. She hoped, at least, that Henri had gone out so she wouldn't have to see him upon her return.

Remy parked the car at the very outside edge of the hospital parking lot – despite there being plenty of empty spaces much closer to the hospital itself; Rogue stared at him unhappily.

"You want me to _walk_ in the rain?" she asked in disbelief.

"Y' wanna see him, y' can walk the rest of the way."

She glared at him icily, "are you going to wait here."

"I guess," he muttered.

"Why don't you just _come in_ and see him for like...five minutes. Then we can leave?"

"'Cause I don't wanna, okay? I'm _fine_ sittin' out here," he folded his arms over his stomach sat back, his expression sulky.

"Fine," she rolled her eyes at him; she exited the car and slammed the door behind her, hunching her shoulders against the cold rain as she quickly paced towards the hospital doors. She got lost on her way to try to find him and it took her ten minutes to make her way through the maze like corridors until she found him in intensive care unit.

Jean-Luc was still as pale and pasty as he had been the night before, although he no longer seemed as _blue_ as she remembered him being. He was hooked up to a large machine that was nearly as tall as she was; two tubes were taped to his arm, the bright red of blood left Rogue feeling a little queasy as she stepped in.

His yellowed eyes shifted towards her, his face uneasy; he was so gaunt and fragile looking that she thought right then he might have been on his last legs. Perhaps he had always looked this bad and she had just not taken enough time and care to notice.

"How you feelin'?" she asked, trying to sound cheery.

"Like I got all kinda _needles_ shoved in me suckin' blood outta me like I was a goddamn cocktail," Jean-Luc spat, his voice dry and harsh as he spoke.

"You nearly died."

"I woulda woke up, sooner or later."

"You were barely _breathing_."

"So they tell me. Sure it woulda gave that so-called son a' mine a thrill for a second t'inkin' he'd got rid of me for good."

Rogue sighed but stopped halfway in the room; she didn't want to get too near the bed...she wasn't comfortable enough with Jean-Luc to be physically closer to him _just_ yet. "Remy was upset."

"Like shit," Jean-Luc mumbled; it was amazing, thought Rogue, that although by now he was most likely completely sober and yet still sounded completely and utterly drunk. "Remy only _care_ 'bout _one_ person, chere, and that _Remy._"

"He cares about you," Rogue admitted, she examined the machine, "is this the dialysis machine?"

"They wan' t' _clean_ my blood up completely so they can do _tests, _chere. So they can _pass_ me a death sentence."

Rogue sighed, she said nothing though, she felt that Jean-Luc wasn't quite finished yet.

"Liver...heart disease...what y' think, chere? What'll it be? Maybe a nice touch o' cancer t' finish me off, then Remy can piss on my grave while I _burn in hell_."

"Stop talkin' like that," Rogue warned. "He was _worried_ about you! Ah've _never_ seen him so upset in _all_ the time Ah've known him!"

"Then why ain' he here?" Jean-Luc demanded, "why ain' he _and_ Henri_ here?"_

"Maybe 'cause you treat them _both_ like crap?" Rogue asked, "How the fuck am _Ah _supposed to know? They've had to sit around and watch you _killin' _yourself for years – you think they wanna come to a hospital and _see _you like this? You don't know what it's _like_ for Remy...he doesn't _have_ anyone else. You and Henri are all he's got."

Jean-Luc snorted. "He got you, chere. Or maybe he don't, eh?" he coughed a little, he seemed nauseous and unbalanced even as he lay there in the bed; Rogue wondered if he was suffering from withdrawals already. "Maybe he don't."

"He has me. He's _always_ had me," Rogue assured. She felt it was no wonder that Remy hadn't wanted to come up to the hospital room; she imagined there would have been much arguing upon his entrance into the room with Jean-Luc in as foul a mood as he was. "It's a shame it seems like he's _never_ had you."

"He didn' _want_ me. He took up wit' me and mines 'cause he _had_ nowhere else. I thought y' woulda figured by now, chere...Remy is a user...he'll always be a user...and when he done with you, he cast y' aside."

Rogue chewed the inside of her cheek, she considered her response, struggling to hold back the string of abusive words she felt like screaming at the man. "Wonder where he got that trait from," she muttered. "Ah've _seen_ inside his mind, and Ah _know_ how you've used him, lived off him, acted like he's a personal _piggy_ bank, exploited his powers, let him rot in _jail_. If he's a user, Jean-Luc, then he must have learned it from you..."

* * *

~ End of Part Seven ~

Thanks to everyone for continuing to add me to their lists and for the wonderful reviews, it's so interesting hearing all of your thoughts and it makes my day to find reviews in my email inbox.

**Kcrae**, I saw your offer to work as a beta but your email was somehow deleted from the review so I couldn't contact you. If if you're still interested please message me somehow through the website :)


	8. Part Eight

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Eight ~

~ Broken ~

* * *

Rogue was fuming by the time she got back to the parking lot and Remy had expected it. He reached over to open the car door for her from inside and then he switched on the engine without saying a word. She threw her damp jacket into the back of the car, her face sour.

_Yeah, that didn't go well,_ Remy thought as he turned his attention to pulling out of the space and onto the road out of the parking lot. He hadn't expected the visit to go well at all; he'd been _hoping_ that Jean-Luc would have been asleep by the time Rogue got up there, but just from the look on her face he could tell that she'd had no such luck.

He'd managed to tune in to a local radio station although the signal was rather weak and would come in and out from time to time. The golden oldies were all that played on this station, not exactly his cup of tea but he supposed it would have to do in the circumstances. At least it wasn't total uncomfortable silence.

Rogue's breathing was heavy; he could tell she was furious and he was determined he didn't want to ask what had happened. Remy was sure without a doubt that when she was ready, she was going to tell him when she'd calmed down enough.

"Your daddy is a-"

"Miserable selfish arrogant abusive alcoholic cock-sucking son of a bitch."

"Yes," she fumed.

He waited; he could feel it coming.

"Does he have...I mean..." she threw her hands up in frustration, "does he have _no_ sense of...anything anymore? No...feeling?"

"Not since I've known him," Remy replied.

"He's never shown you _one _ounce of love?"

Remy thought about this; he could remember Christmases and receiving gifts from Jean-Luc, which would be later kicked around the house in fury if they were left lying around where he could trip on them. He could remember repeatedly begging Jean-Luc to help him with his homework when he'd been young and still relatively _interested_ in school only to see the man rip up his books in a boiling rage if it interfered with his drinking and his television programs. He could remember other things like being trained to scale buildings, being called every name under the sun until he did it _right_ the way it was meant to be done.

What Remy _couldn't_ remember...was love.

"Chere...I don' think _anyone_ ever has shown me _one ounce of love_. Not _unconditionally,_ any how."

He felt Rogue's eyes on him, soft and sad like the eyes of a basset hound gazing woefully at it's master. "Oh, Remy," she sighed. "That's not true."

"Yes it is, and I'm _fine _with it," he said thickly. "Love isn't a _necessity. _People get by without it every day. I've gotten by _this_ far without it...I could probably make it for the rest of my life never having it."

His hand was poised on the gear stick, ready to shift from third to fourth; he felt her hand upon his and he turned to glance at her quickly.

"Can't _miss_ what y' never had, can you?" he jested; he glanced down to her hand briefly and enjoyed having it there.

"Bella Donna loves you..." Rogue tried, she raised her hand from his and pretended to be interested with dust on the dashboard.

"It's not the same. It's not the same if I don't _feel_ it too."

"And you're sayin'...you never _have_ felt love for_ anyone ?" _she asked, sounding intrigued. "Platonic or _otherwise_?"

"Never said that, chere," he admitted. "Never said that at _all._"

"Then what are you sayin', Remy?"

"I think I'm sayin'..." he began, "that I'm not ready t' really say _what I feel._"

"Oh."

"What about you, chere?" he asked softly. "What do y' feel? Ever felt _love_ for anyone?"

Rogue stared of the window, a sigh escaped her lips. "Ah love the people Ah live with...in a platonic way...Ah guess. They're like _family,_ now."  
"How about romantic love?" he pushed. Would she say something he wanted to hear? He wasn't sure what he _did_ want to hear from her, only that he needed to hear _something. _"Ever felt that either?"

She reflected for a moment, then said, "Ah felt like...for like _five minutes_ that Ah...loved Scott."

"And then?"

"It turned out he didn't love me. He loved Jean instead."

"And that hurt you?"

Rogue gave an odd almost amused chuckle, "It didn't hurt me. Ah was _annoyed_, but...it didn't hurt me. Seein' them together...it...just _reminds_ me of what Ah can't have, but...Ah can't say it _hurts_ me."

"Then y' didn't love him, chere," Remy stated. "'Cause if you had loved him...it woulda killed y' t' see him with _anyone_ else. It's hard t' see the one y' want yearnin' for the touch of another...at the same time they don't even seem t' know of your existence," he felt her eyes on him as he spoke

"And you _know_ this, how?" Rogue demanded.

Remy forced a weak smile, "Maybe if y' let me into your life sometime, I'll tell y' all about it."

* * *

The music was the first thing they could hear before the LeBeau house was even in sight. That low _thump thump thump_ of dance music that seemed to almost vibrate the entire road ahead. There _was_ only one place in this area it could have come one, there _was_ only one house at the end of this road.

"What the fuck?" Rogue heard Remy muttering over the din. Remy stepped on the gas and hit sixty along the road and swerved to park right outside of the family house where every light was on inside.

Rogue gaped through the windscreen; there were people everywhere. Young men and women hanging around the porch drinking from plastic cups, the front door was open and there seemed to be more people inside. There were cars parked everywhere outside, most had

"Oh y' gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me..." Remy shook his head in dismay; he reached for the door handle to get out of the car.

Rogue grabbed a hold of his arm and held him there. "Calm down..."

"Calm down? Y' gotta be jokin'..." he yanked his arm away from her and exited the car.

Sighing, she exited the car too, having to walk to the other side to take the key out of the ignition and shut Remy's door since in his anger he seemed to have forgotten to do both.

_I can't believe his brother is having a party,_ thought Rogue as she followed Remy up the porch steps, pushing past people to get inside of the house.

"Henri?" Remy yelled loudly over the noise of music that was practically ear splitting.

Rogue found the stereo in the living room – it was brand new judging by the cardboard box and packaging it was sitting beside. Stolen, she supposed. Henri didn't seem like the kind of guy to buy anything, especially not with his chosen profession. With a grunt of disgust at the strong smell of cheap beer, she twisted the volume dial down so that the music was just barely audible; most of the party-goers who seemed to be all the way through the house were too drunk or busy to notice, and only a few protested.

"Henri!" came Remy's demand again; he seemed to be running back and forth over the house trying to locate his adoptive brother. Rogue wasn't sure what he would do when he eventually did.

Rogue stepped out into the hallway, pushing between a dancing couple – did they not hear the music was almost inaudible now? - to glance up the stairs to see Remy coming back down.

"He down here?"

"Ah dunno..." Rogue shrugged.

"Remy LeBeau!" came a delighted cry, and Remy turned to glance down the hallway just as he set foot at the bottom of the staircase; a young woman with long flaxen hair was making her way towards him in a long flowing floral dress, her golden tan seemed to glow in the poor hallway lighting.

"Hey..." he said meekly.

Rogue glared as the woman slung her arms around him to kiss his neck; Remy's reaction was to shrug out of her touch pretty fast.

"I've been lookin' for y' all evenin'...where y' been hidin', hon?" she asked, tucking her long silken hair behind her ear, her blue eyes glittering as she stared at him.

"I've been out," Remy said uncomfortably to the young woman, "Y' seen my brother?"

"He's _probably_ out get'n more beer...we ran out a lil' while ago..."

Remy rubbed the back of his neck, the frustration was evident on his face, his eyes were full of fury and Rogue noted it as she made her way to him.

"Everythin' okay?" Rogue asked, grabbing for Remy's hand and holding it within both of hers.

"Yeah..." Remy sighed, "Charlene...this is..." he gestured to Rogue with his free hand, "this is-" he looked as if he couldn't remember her name. Was he _that_ upset?

"Alice," Rogue nodded in the girls direction. "Ah'm Remy's wife."

Charlene, the girl with flaxen hair who seemed to know Remy a little too intimately judging by the way she let her fingers dance up his chest and brush his nose, giggled. "Now I _heard_ you was get'n married, but I didn' think it was gonna be _this_ soon..."

Remy was flustered, his face red. He wasn't in the mood for small talk...he wasn't in the mood for any talk it seemed and he was getting more and more uncomfortable and enraged by what was going on in the house.

"Y'know, this is a _really_ bad time..." Rogue began.

Charlene seemed to ignore Rogue completely, kept on speaking as if nothing had ever been said. "I actually _heard_ it was gonna be Bella Donna Bordereaux...but then, she's like thirty-one flavours of crazy..."

"Yeah..." Remy said distractedly, taking notes of how many people were there.

Rogue tugged on Remy's hand to pull him away, "Excuse us," she said.

"We need to get this place empty..."

"Yeah...how many people are upstairs?" Rogue asked.

"About twenty...there's like ten people in Henri's room smokin' weed...another four in Jean-Luc's room rollin' around on the bed..."

Rogue shuddered at the thought.

"And a line at the bathroom door..."

Through the open door Rogue and Remy could both see the headlights coming along the drive; it was past nine now and the last of the evening light had almost gone completely, so something like the headlights of Henri's jeep stood out a mile as it approached.

Remy broke his hand free of Rogue and turned to find a nearby closet; Rogue watched him with curiosity as he took something from there, then swung around to head outside, an aluminium baseball bat held tight in his right fist.

"Oh fuck..." Rogue panicked as she chased Remy who was making his way through the party-people to run down the doorsteps and just as the car was pulling towards the house to park outside, Remy brought the bat down into the left headlight. "Remy! Stop!" she grabbed a hold of him around the shoulders and tried to pull him away.

His second swing was harder, and it hit the glass of the windscreen, casting a pattern of silvery grey through most of the glass obscuring a rather dumbstruck Henri LeBeau.

"Remy! What the fuck?" Henri demanded as he got out of the car; he narrowly ducked a third swing, Remy caught the side door window, and it smashed.

"Calm down!" Rogue cried at him, trying to get a good hold of his batting arm to stop him.

"He's barely been in the hospital twenty-four hours and y' already actin' like he's dead and buried – that the house is _yours_!" Remy growled. "Who the _fuck _d' y' t'_ink_ you _are_?"

Rogue caught – from the corner of her eye – people starting to slowly gather around to watch the scene that Remy was making. "Remy, calm down..." she tried to soothe.

He struggled out of her grasp, "don't hold me back!" he cried at her. He dropped the bat and swung his fist at his stunned and apparently somewhat drunken brother who fell to the ground with a dull thud after being caught square in the jaw with an uppercut.

"Remy!" she grabbed his fist and tried to hold him back; she somewhat succeeded but he swung his foot at his brother, catching him swiftly in the jaw; Rogue saw a splash of blood on the right headlight which was still on.

"You piece of shit!" Remy cried at Henri, who was struggling to get up, dazed by the blow. "Y' just _like_ him, aren't you? Don' care 'bout _no_ one but y'self!"

"Remy! Stop it! Don't make me use my powers on you!" Rogue squealed at him; she was beginning to feel genuinely afraid her husband may just kill his brother in frustration and anger. He was still struggling to get loose from her, trying to hit at and attack Henri and no one was even trying to come to Rogue's aid to help.

Henri managed to get up and he went for Remy, staggering and catching him clumsily in the jaw which didn't seem to do much other than upset him further. It was when Remy swung to punch his brother in the face for the second time that his elbow hit Rogue in the face and she felt a hard blow to the bridge of her nose which made her eyes instantly water.

She landed backwards on, falling on the soft grassy ground, holding her face in agony.

"Look what y' did!" Henri was laughing as he held his jaw in pain, "y' t'ink _I'm_ like him...y' the one who an abusive wife beater!"

Remy stared at Rogue in horror as she held onto her face, her eyes smarting, her nose felt as if something was pressing hard on the bridge and wouldn't let go. "Fuck..."  
"Y' no longer welcome here..." Henri warned. "Take y' clothes and shit, and get the fuck out of my house. Take that little mutant tramp with y'."

"Chere, I..." Remy tried to help her up.

"Don't!" she cried at him, "don't touch me..." she got up, realising she still had the car keys in her hand, the keyring around her finger which had been all that had stopped it from getting lost in the brawl. She made her way to Remy's car, holding onto her face; she noted there was blood on her gloves and she realised her nose was bleeding rather badly.

She had a bag in the car that had a few tissues in it and she stuffed them up her nose which was now throbbing pain all the way through the rest of her face, her eyes pouring with tears of pain. She glanced in the rear view mirror at herself, her face was smeared with her own blood, her nose already seemed to look quite swollen.

"Shit..." she muttered in upset as she twisted the end of a fresh tissue and pushed it up her nose after removing the two soaked ones. Her eyes hurt badly, especially the left eye which felt as if someone might be pressing their thumb right into it.

It was some moments before Remy returned to the car, he got in, tossing a bag into the back. "Chere, I'm-"

"Don't," she warned, it hurt her face even to talk. "Ah told y' t' stop, and y' wouldn't listen. Now y' got us both kicked out with nowhere t' go."

"Chere...I didn'-"

"Shut up and just fuckin' drive," she threw the keys at him angrily, tears pouring down her face as the pain continued to throb through it. She didn't want to talk to him the rest of the night and hoped he had at least enough sense to respect that.

* * *

The nearest place Remy could find that would have somewhere for he and Rogue to stay for the night was a motel on the highway that would have taken him to New Orleans if they drove for another two hours. The motel looked shabby even from the outside, but he supposed it would have to do given the circumstances. Besides...it was probably still more homely and welcoming than his own house was.

Rogue had said nothing on the journey; she leaned back in the seat, her head tilted back, tissues stuffed up her nose, her face stained with dried blood. He didn't want to say to her that her face looked swollen, he was sure she was well aware of this judging by the expressions of pain she was making.

Remy felt horribly guilty, he couldn't believe he'd let that happen and he wished he'd been able to listen to her. He supposed now was far too late for regrets.

_Never felt rage like that before,_ he thought dully as he checked he and his wife into a room; the night manager looked curiously at him noting the blood splatters on his knuckles as he signed himself in as Jeremy LeNoir.

He and Rogue walked to their room together in silence, Remy carrying the bag of what few belongings he'd had time to grab from his room before his brother had come looking for him threatening to call the cops for assault. Remy knew it was unlikely Henri would call the cops – after all, it had looked like some of the items in the house such as the small keg in the hall, the stereo in the living room, and case of beer in the back of the car might have possibly been stolen.

Remy unlocked the door and let Rogue be the first to step in, reaching in to turn on the light for her as they entered. The room was bland, with butterscotch walls, brown candlewick bed covers over the twin beds, and a dark red carpet that was dated and old.

"I thought y' would prefer twin beds," he said, gesturing to both beds, "it's been a while since either of us had 'nough room t' move at night."

Rogue headed straight for the bathroom without saying a word to him; Remy heard the water running in the sink and he followed her to the bathroom. He watched her for a moment or so, rinsing the blood from her face, the sink splattered with red as she did so. "I'll go get y' some ice..." he offered, grabbing a small towel from the rail on the outside side of the flimsy looking shower stall.

The rain had stopped hours ago but the air was cool and welcoming now and he took a few moments outside to try and recompose himself before gathering a good couple of handfuls of ice and wrapping it all in the towel to return to the room.

He found Rogue sitting on the bathroom floor against the back wall beneath the small window, the hand-towel from beneath the sink had been folded up and soaked into a makeshift washcloth which she was now holding to her face.

The sink had red stains all over it, and the floor; blood mixed with water. _Her blood._ Her suede gloves were ruined with blood and were lying in the orangey-red water of the sink.

"Here, chere," he said gently, he came to step over, she put a finger up to stop him from stepping further.

"Don't come near me," she warned angrily, her voice muted by the wet towel.

"I got you some ice..." he tried.

"Just don't! If it weren't for you and that bad boy temper of you, my nose would be in one piece about now," she sounded as if she were close to crying.

"Is it broken?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know. It hurts like fuck. _Your_ fault."

"Lemme see..." he dared to step towards her anyway and he tugged the towel from her reluctant bare hands.

Her face was a mess all right. In the hour and a half they'd been driving around trying to find the nearest hotel or motel, the whole profile of her face had swollen up, the bridge of her nose seemed almost flat and bulbous, and both eyes - especially her left eye – were swollen too. Her left eye was in fact, almost closed completely. The first signs of bruising were already starting to appear and he realised it must have been some force he'd elbowed her with.

"Oh fuck..." he whispered.

She looked away from him; the one green eye that was half open was glassy, glimmering with the threat of fresh tears of pain.

"Close y' eyes..." he murmured, trying to keep a calm head when all he wanted to do was punch the tiled wall and scream at himself for being as stupid as to hurt her.

She did so and leaned back as he pressed the makeshift icepack to her swollen face; Rogue's groan of pain was emotion to make him wince as he did so.

"Oh, chere..." he sighed unhappily.

"Shut up," she grumbled in pain, "Ah don't wanna _hear_ it."

"C'mon," he said, taking her by the elbow while trying to hold the pack steady to her face. "Lemme take you t' your bed."

She fought him at first, stubbornly as she tried to get up, but eventually, blinded by the pain and the pack on her face, she accepted his help to the bedroom and let him lead her to the bed.

Remy helped her lie down, all the while mentally kicking himself for stupidity and feeling so incredibly sad that she would be in pain for perhaps weeks because of him and his stupid brother. "I can go ask the night manager if he got anythin' for the pain," he offered.

"No. Leave it," she commanded, lying on her back with the bunched up towel of ice over her face, obscuring her from Remy's view.

Remy sat on the edge of his own bed, his head low; he let his arms rest upon his knees and sighed softly, "I can't believe Henri would jus'...throw a party while his own _father _is in hospital..." he shook his head. "It like...he don' care at all."

"Ah don't want to talk about it, Remy," Rogue muttered rolling over onto her side so she was facing away from him completely.

He stared down at the carpet. "D' y' want me to call your friends t' come and get y'?" he asked softly, his heart sinking.

"No."

"If I call Wolverine for y', y' could probably absorb his powers...heal up fast..."

"Ah want you to shut the fuck up 'til tomorrow morning, Remy. Seriously."

"Okay..." he agreed, sighing. "I can do that...I can do that."

"Ah said shut the fuck _up_, that includes _not_ talking."

Remy shook his head at her and he lay down across the covers to glance up at the cracked ceiling. Everything had become such a nightmare and he'd never thought it would be like this. When morning came, he was almost positive that she would want to go home to Bayville. He wouldn't blame her if she did.

* * *

When the morning had come, the pain had not subsided at all; in fact, if anything, it only felt worse. When Rogue leaned up and tried to sniff, her whole face seemed to scream 'don't even think about doing that again!' and it made her eyes blur with tears of pain. Her eyesight was limited, she could feel that her left eye had swollen shut completely and her right eye felt half open although she tried to widen it by blinking a few times she only failed in her attempt.

The television in the motel room was on, the volume low, the flickering light dancing across the dimly lit room. Rogue climbed off of the bed and entered the bathroom surprised to find that the blood from the floor and the sink was now gone.

_He cleaned,_ she realised, she glanced through the door to see into the room, Remy was sleeping on his stomach, sprawled across the bottom of his bed, the television remote in his loose grip.

She examined her face in the mirror; both eyes were indeed swollen, the left was bruised completely and was extremely tender. She pried the lid open to check her eye; her entire eyeball was red, the green of her eye stood out brightly against it.

_Terrific,_ she thought unhappily. She could barely believe how being hit in the nose could seem to wreck most of her face and leave her looking so completely unlike herself. _I look like I've just lost a prize fight to Mike Tyson._

Her thoughts drifted back to the night before as she entered the room to gaze down at her sleeping husband; Remy's rage at his brother. It had caught her so much by surprise and at the same time she realised she should have been expecting him to eventually snap and start hitting out.

Henri's behaviour had been...unacceptable. What did he think he was playing at having a party while his own father lay in hospital? It was possibly the most insensitive thing she'd seen from anyone in her life. Part of her couldn't blame Remy for his outburst at his brother, part of it even seemed justifiable in a sense. But at the same time...to go to such an extreme and start attacking had been completely non justifiable. Yelling, maybe, but hitting...no...absolutely not.

_This boy has demons,_ Rogue thought feebly as she dug through the bag Remy had brought with him; she found some fresh clothes of her own and thankfully, the charger for her cellphone which had died through the night. She plugged the phone in and as it lit up after she switched it on, she found several missed calls once again.

Sitting on her bed she read through the unread text messages that had been gathering; she'd been avoiding reading them for the past few days since living with Remy and his family. Messages from Kitty demanded to know why she hadn't been in touch, while Kurt seemed positively hurt and pleaded for Rogue to call him just to let him know she was alright.

There were no text messages from Logan. There were missed calls though...several of them.

_I can't keep avoiding them,_ she thought as she went to take a quick shower after checking that Remy was still fast asleep. It unnerved her having rooms with no doors; privacy was one thing she'd always been very conscious of at the mansion, and it was one of those things she struggled to achieve at the best of times as she and her friends fought for use of the bathroom in the morning; sometimes she'd be trying to take a morning shower and have the bathroom invaded by a urgently needing to pee Kitty Pryde who would simply phase through the door in her desperation.

She couldn't help but miss them all now; life had been complicated at the mansion, yes...but not as complicated as life here was turning out to be. Things here were...too real.

_They're just going to get mad and the longer I leave it, the more determined they'll get to figure out where I am. It's only a matter of time before they figure out I'm with Remy,_ she thought as she rinsed out her hair.

She stepped out of the shower; she had forgot there were no towels and she groaned in frustration as she stood dripping naked and dripping wet on the tiled floor. _This day keeps getting better and better._

"Chere, y' phone is ring—oh..."

She glanced towards the doorway; Remy was standing gazing at her, looking tired, and dull, his clothes sweaty-stained, his hair mussed, his face unshaven.

"What the fuck?" she demanded, "get out!"

"Your face..." he said softly, his expression upset.

"It's a wreck, now get out," she grabbed her dirty sweatshirt and tried to hide her body from him; she found it odd that he wasn't staring any further down than her face. Was Remy LeBeau _really_ passing up the opportunity to see another woman naked?

"I'll get you some towels and more ice," he said promptly with a sigh.

She waited, huddled behind her slightly oversized sweatshirt; he returned three minutes later with fresh towels for her, which although she was still decidedly angry with him, she was thankful for.

After drying off and dressing, she entered the room to find him sitting there on the bed he'd slept on, a fresh makeshift ice pack in his hand ready for her. She glanced down at him, her cheeks reddening still at the humiliation of being walked in on.

"Here..." he offered.

She took the icepack and sat down on the bed she had slept on, opposing him. She pushed the icepack against her nose and eye, leaving her right eye un-obscured, it being the only remaining one she could currently see from.

"Your phone stopped ringing a minute ago," he said, "I looked at the caller – it was Wolverine again."

"He's worried," Rogue realised.

"He got a thing for you?"

"He's old enough to be...Ah dunno...my grandfather?" she made a face; the effort to do this hurt a great deal and she wished she hadn't.

"Y' think that'd stop him from havin' a thing for you?" he asked; was that annoyance in his tone?

"He _cares_ about me, Remy. He's like...the only _guy_ Ah've ever been able to _count on_ in my entire life. He's...kind of like...a father in a way...not that Ah know much about havin' one."

"I know the feelin'," Remy remarked, he sighed.

"Ah should probably call him...let him know Ah'm safe..."

"You gonna get him t' come get you?"

"No," she replied quietly, she was thankful of the cold almost numbing effect of the ice. Some painkillers wouldn't have gone amiss right about now, though.

"Y' sure that's what y' want?"

"Yes," she answered. How _could_ she leave right now? Looking like this...Logan would only want to _kill_ Remy for leaving her with a face like this hanging on her. Besides...she couldn't in all good conscience just leave him here with his no good brother and abusive father, and especially not with the risk of Assassins discovering his marriage to her had been a ploy and nothing more.

_Ah can't let anything happen to him right now,_ she thought as she gazed at him through her one slightly blurry eye.

"If I could make this better..." he said softly. "Y'know I would..."

"You can't..." Rogue shook her head. "It's not _all_ your fault. You're just a...a..." she thought hard about what she wanted to call him. "A product of your stupid fucked up environment."

"I shoulda just kept on runnin' instead of comin' back here," Remy stood up and paced the room.

"What's done is done, we can't _change_ anything now, Remy. All we have to _do_ is just keep goin' until we figure out a way out," she winced at the pain as she shifted her hand lightly to move the makeshift icepack slightly lower on her nose.

"I think I should take y' t' the hospital t' get that nose checked."

"It's fine."

"It's _probably_ broken," Remy stood up, "c'mon. Lets grab our stuff and check out."

"And go _where_ exactly?" she asked.

"After the hospital...I dunno. I'll figure somethin' out..." he promised. "But lets go get that nose seen to first."

* * *

As it turned out, Rogue's nose was broken, and to sit back and hear the news as she received it had been extremely painful for Remy to hear. The female doctor who had been treating his father – Doctor Nesbitt was her name – was the one to come to their aid after they had to wait in the emergency room for three hours to be seen.

Remy watched the face on the doctor as she treated his wife's nose, the guilt pouring out of him and making him feel so hot with humiliation he could melt to a puddle on the floor. Perhaps it was just Doctor Nesbitt's rather curious look as she took one more look at the nose, as if she were trying to determine exactly how it had happened for herself.

Under a general anaesthetic the doctor had to realign the bone to make sure it was back in place and that hopefully there would be no disfigurement. Remy could tell although Rogue was under the anaesthetic, that she still felt the pain nonetheless.

"How did this happen?" Doctor Nesbitt queried; Remy noted she was jotting something down on a form attached to a clipboard.

Remy wondered how unbelievable it _would_ sound to explain what had really happened. He was sure that to explain he had _accidentally_ elbowed her in the face would sound like a very lame excuse to a doctor a man was trying to convince that he _wasn't_ a wife beater.

Rogue spoke up, her voice thick with pain, "he was fighin' with his brother...Ah tried to stop him and Ah got elbowed."

"Are you sure?" Doctor Nesbitt asked.

Remy thought this an extremely silly question, although he understood what had prompted her to ask it. He looked do the floor, face red with embarrassment and fury with himself.

"Of course Ah'm sure," Rogue replied confidently.

"This kind of facial fracture is consistent with-" the doctor began.

"I'm not a wife hitter, Doc," Remy spoke up angrily.

"Of course."

"I love my wife, she good t' me. She the _only _person in this world I _can_ trust," Remy said to the doctor, although he tried to meet his eyes with Rogue's one good remaining eye – the eye that wasn't completely swollen shut.

It was so horrible to look at, especially knowing it had been his fault. If it had just been a scratch or a little welt, he might have been able to live with himself easily, but right now he felt like he'd never be able to forgive himself for his stupidity.

_Why didn't I listen..._?

Rogue exchanged glances with him briefly, but then stared down to her hands in her lap, her expression sullen and pained.

The doctor spoke up, "I wasn't suggesting-"

"I know what y' were suggestin'," Remy said defensively. "Y' can sit there and make y' judgements about me and what goes on in my life all y' want, but at the end of the day _I _know what t' be true and what not. I know what y' see when y' look at me...no job, no house of my own, married at eighteen...I talk dumb and I'm a _mutant_ was well, so I mus' be a wife beater, right? I bet y' prolly t'ink I come home drunk every night and slap her 'round a bit before I bed her!"

"Remy," Rogue hushed.

"No," Remy shook his head. "I'm _not _havin' this! I didn' lay a finger on you. It was an accident and she lookin' at me like I'm guilty as hell. I may _be_ guilty of doin' that t' your face, chere...but y' know it wasn't intentional!"

The doctor stood patiently listening to him until he'd finished. "I apologise."

Remy got up, "y' got no right t' make assumptions. I came t' get my wife some treatment, not t' get the third degree."

Rogue sighed, "Remy...calm down," she pleaded.

He looked away from Rogue, pursing his lips shut in anger.

Doctor Nesbitt, now clearly flustered, cleared her throat, she took a prescription pad from her coat pocket and wrote something out, "have this filled, this should help with your pain, Mrs. LeBeau. I would suggest taking two at night an hour before bed to help sooth the pain enough for you to sleep comfortably."

Rogue accepted the prescription slip from the doctor and she stood, "can Ah go now?"

"Just one other thing," said Doctor Nesbitt. "I thought you'd like to know I ran tests last night on your father," she glanced towards Remy. "And the prognosis is _not_ good."

"Cirrhosis?" Remy queried, he held onto the edge of his chair uneasily.

"I'm afraid so."

"How...bad?" Rogue asked concernedly.

"His liver is extensively scarred...and once a liver is damaged, fluids build up and it puts intense pressure on the diaphragm making it incredibly hard for him to breathe. His breathing problems were not caused by alcohol poisoning, but from this..."

Remy looked down to the floor; he couldn't believe he was hearing this. It felt surreal to be sitting in a hospital treatment room listening to the prognosis for his adoptive father. He felt detached, as if he were no longer there in the room but rather somewhere else entirely.

"Of course...with cirrhosis this far progressed...the liver begins to release toxins into the blood, and this can alter his mental state permanently..." Doctor Nesbitt explained.

"Are you saying..." Rogue began, she cleared her throat a little, sounding slightly upset, "that he's _brain damaged_?"

"In a matter of speaking, yes," she nodded, her black hair bobbing at her shoulders. "In his case, it may be that his hostility could be a result of his condition."

Remy chewed the inside of his cheek and considered this. "He's always been...kinda crazy. Least since I've known him."

"As we have no records of him being checked, it could be he has been suffering with the condition for _years,_" said Dr. Nesbitt softly.

Rogue folded her arms, the prescription paper dangling from her bare fingers. "What can we do to help him?"

"Keeping him away from alcohol, of course is absolutely necessary should you not want the condition to progress further. At this stage, it would only accelerate the damage and most likely kill him."

"Okay..." Remy nodded slowly.

"What is his current diet?"

Remy thought about this and he found it difficult to answer. "I...I dunno...I'm rarely home...he...he rarely eats...and there's hardly ever food in the house..."

"He'll need to change his diet, I can give you some instructions. I know an excellent nutritionist who will work with him to draw up a plan of what he should eat and which supplements to be taking to help heal his liver."

With a bitter laugh, Remy sighed, "He ain't gonna go to any nutritionist, Doc. He don' _care_ about nutrition. All he gon' care about is when he can get his next bottle."

"We've already made him fully aware that if he continues to drink, he could die within years and only a radical course of action on his part will increase his life expectancy..."

"Isn't there anything else we can do for him? What about a transplant?" Remy asked, he felt an odd sense of desperation as he asked.

"I'm afraid to tell you, under these circumstances...that he is simply not eligible for the transplant list," the doctor said sympathetically.

"Not...eligible?" Remy asked, his voice thick with a strange kind of emotion he wasn't particularly familiar with.

"Remy, they won't put an alcoholic on the transplant list...he's too much of a risk..." Rogue said quietly.

Remy swallowed hard. "Prescriptions, then?"

"There is no _miracle _cure for liver damage, Mr. LeBeau, and the drugs I _can _prescribe would only worsen his condition _if_ he were still to take alcohol on top of them."

Shaking his head, Remy stared at the floor; the world seemed to be fading away around him as he stared at the tile pattern beneath his feet.

"What _can_ we do?" Rogue asked.

"There's rehabilitation, of course. Alcoholics Anonymous...counselling..."

"He won't _go_ to those things," Remy uttered.

"Perhaps you could convince him?" The doctor tried.

With an ironic laugh, Remy stood up, "Y' think he gon' listen t' me? The last time I tried t' take care of him by offerin' him a hot meal he threw it at me...y' honestly think he gon' wan' t' listen about how AA will save his _life?_"

Rogue placed a hand on his shoulder tenderly, she urged him to be quiet. "When can we take him home?"

"I'd like to keep him in for a few weeks," Doctor Nesbitt admitted, "his withdrawal symptoms are quite severe."

"How severe?"

"He took a seizure in the early hours of the morning and his heartbeat has been slightly irregular – it's not uncommon for someone as addicted going through withdrawal to eventually go into heart failure...he needs to be monitored.

"Is it gonna be costly?" Rogue asked concernedly.

"Don't matter 'bout the cost," Remy replied dully. "I got it covered."

"Would you like to see him before you go?" Doctor Nesbitt queried.

"No," Remy replied, still adamant about this. He couldn't face this, not right now, not so soon after hearing such a prognosis. "Not right now."

* * *

Rogue wished she had been able to drive the car from the hospital; although her vision was severely compromised, she was sure she was in much better condition to drive than her new husband who looked pale and distracted. He kept hitting the wrong side on turn signals and having to correct himself.

She glanced at the prescription bag in her hand; she hadn't even bothered to look at what was inside, she only hoped whatever it was would take the pain out of her face even for a little while so she could feel at least vaguely comfortable.

Thankfully, Remy decided to delay the journey and take a short cut to the nearest town and Rogue was glad of this. He pulled the car into the small parking lot outside a quiet diner and cut the engine out, he sighed in his seat as he stared at the wheel; it seemed he was deciding whether he truly wanted to get out of the car or not.

"C'mon," Rogue said softly, "lets go get somethin' t' eat...Ah'll pay."

"How y' gon' pay?" he asked, a dull laugh escaped his sad lips.

"Uhm..." she dug into her pocket to retrieve her own wallet. "Ah still have your Gold card."

"Oh."

"What's yours is mine," she teased, she'd hoped it would make him laugh but it only failed and she wished she hadn't bothered to try at all since now she only felt awkward and inappropriate.

"K, chere," he sighed once more.

The diner was just about dead when they stepped in. Rogue had the feeling they had probably avoided the breakfast rush but were soon to be mobbed by the lunchtime rush. They took a booth at the window which overlooked the town's one main street. Remy was too distracted to order food when the waitress finally came.

"Black coffee for him," Rogue gestured to Remy, "No sugar. Ah'll have coffee with cream..." she added.

"And to eat?" asked the pretty little redhead waitress; she reminded Rogue of Jean in a sense, except much more bubbly and petite, which oddly reminded her of Kitty. Rogue wondered why the waitress seemed to think nothing of the mess her face was in; had she seen beaten women come in to this place more often than not?

"Uh..." Rogue glanced at Remy, who seemed to have no interest in ordering food. "Couple of cheeseburgers, I guess. And some fries."

The waitress went off to fill the order, Rogue laid her prescription bag on the table and opened it to glance inside.

"What they give y'?" Remy asked.

"Vicodin."

"Those strong."

"Well Ah _do_ have a broken face,"she reminded.

When the coffee arrived she took two of the pills as directed; she hoped the warmth of the coffee would only help dissolve the pills more quickly so that they would take affect; her face was in agony.

"What we gonna do once we finish eating?" Rogue asked after the food had arrived; she chewed on a fry although even eating caused so much pain she was beginning to already lose her appetite.

"Gotta go back t' the house, speak t' Henri, I guess."

"After last night."

"Still got t' let him know what goin' on with Jean-Luc. He's his _father_, after all."

Rogue took a small bite from her burger and chewed thoughtfully. "Are you paying for his treatment?" she queried.

"What choice d' I got?" he took a bite from his own burger; Rogue was sure that it was merely to keep himself busy rather than out of hunger. "Him and Henri got _no_ money 'cause they pissed it all away."

She stuck her fork into the salad at the side of her burger. "Your daddy...he said...that you got _a lot_ of money..."

Remy shrugged, "that only what he know about."

"How much are we talking?" Rogue wondered aloud.

"Jean-Luc t'inks I got 'bout maybe a hundred grand spread between three separate accounts."

"Wow...that's like...a _crapload_ of money."

Remy gazed at her, "that just what he t'ink, chere."

"You can seriously make that much money?" Rogue asked, she seemed to remember him mentioning he could easily bring in five-hundred-thousand within the space of a month but she had believed it to be exaggeration...and even more so that his father and brother could spend that in a heartbeat.

"Last job I do, I steal a Vettriano from an exhibition in Nice."

"Vettriano?"

"He a Scottish painter. Paints popular vintage style stuff...kind y' expect t' see on postcards from like seventy or eighty years ago...sort of between film noir and pinup girl type stuff, y'know..."

"Oh."

"Anyway...my _fee_ for stealin' this particular paintin'..." he kept his voice down. "We talkin' a quarter of a mil."

"Now you're just _bullshitting._"

He shook his head, "no. I'm not."

"Oh come on!"

"Chere. I'm serious. If y' got the skill to pull of a theft like that _without_ get'n caught, then y' got no problem makin' money like I do."

"So. How much money _have_ you made?"

"Too much t' count."

"Where is it all?"

"I dunno...all over. Most in bank accounts overseas...where they can't be easily traced...or got at by my family," he took a fry from the plate and popped into his mouth. "I got more than y' could spend."

"Millions?"

"Wouldn't _you_ like t' know," he teased. His smile was brief, but it fell again. "So payin' for Jean-Luc's treatment is like...droppin' pennies into the shakin' tin of a homeless person on the street, y'know?"

"Ah don't believe you," Rogue shook her head. "If you were a millionaire, you would be...I dunno...drivin' a fancy car, wearin' better clothes...livin' in a better house."

"That's all attention drawin' stuff, chere. Keep a low profile, no one notice y'."

"You're not tempted to use _any_ of it to make life better?"

"Money don't make life _better_ chere. Might improve some stuff, but it don't fix _every _problem."

"Oh."

"But if y' want..." he shrugged, "since y' been so sweet t' help me with all this..." he gestured. "I could set y' up a little account for when we get back to Bayville. Y' could have _everythin' _y' ever wanted."

Rogue shook her head, "Ah wouldn't dream of touchin' your ill-gotten gains."

"They not ill-gotten. That money is _all_ legit. Most the stuff I steal...already was _stolen_ t' begin with. Sometimes the owners want it _back,_ and those are my favourite jobs...'cause I get paid t' put everything _right_."

"Ah still don't agree with it," Rogue confessed as she sipped from her coffee cup. "And Ah don't really like _takin'_ money from people, either."

"Y' earned it."

"By?"

"Cleanin' my house? Scrubbin' piss and booze stains out of the couch? Takin' care of Jean-Luc? Y' deserve everythin' in the world I could possibly give y'..."

Rogue glanced down at her plate. "Ah don't really need anything, Remy. Ah got all I need."

Remy gave a quiet sigh as he gazed at her, his expression almost longing, "t'ink maybe I do, too."

* * *

~ End of Part 8 ~

Thank you for all the wonderful reviews! I've especially enjoyed the lengthy ones (And you all know who you are!)! It's so nice to hear all of your thoughts and predictions for what may be to come! They truly become the highlight of my day! I hope you all enjoy this part! I apologise for taking so long to put it up :) The next update hopefully will not be too long!


	9. Part Nine

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Nine ~

~ Taking Care ~

* * *

The rattle of the old engine was pleasant; it almost seemed to hum and purr, the seat vibrating at every slight bump in the uneven road.

As Rogue let her head rest against the back of the long bench seat and slid down just a little to make herself more comfortable, she felt oddly at peace and drowsy; her nose and eyes only seemed to dully throb now, and it was the first relief she'd felt since the night before.

"Y' feelin' alright, chere?"

"Mmmhmm," she responded softly.

She felt his eyes on her briefly as they carried on the straight road, the sun was casting odd shadows through the rows of trees on either side and it mesmerised her momentarily.

"I t'ink those Vicodins have kicked in," Remy said, his voice oddly flat. "How's the pain?"

"Fine," she breathed; even to breathe in through her nose didn't hurt as much, although she was still aware of the pressure that seemed to linger there. She recognised the road they were on, she'd seen it before in the past few days; she tried to straighten up a little. "Where we?"

"On the way t' the house, I told y'. Gotta let Henri know what's goin' on with Jean-Luc, even if he in a foul mood wit' us."

"Do we gotta go back?" she asked, she propped her elbow on door just where the window was open, and let her cheek rest against her bare hand.

"'Fraid so, chere. Plus we got other stuff we need t' pick up."

She sighed; she wasn't particularly looking forward to seeing Henri again, especially not in this condition. She knew his attitude would be to ridicule it...milk it for all it's worth.

"Know that's funny?" Remy asked, he swept his sweat-tinged hair from his eyes.

"Hmm?"

"This supposed t' be my weddin' day."

"Oh."

"Thank god I dodged _that_ bullet," he remarked wryly.

"Do you think she loves you?" Rogue asked tiredly, she blinked, trying to focus her eyes on the road.

"Do I t'ink she loves me? No. I t'ink she _obsessed_ with me. She look at me as some kinda property. I don' _wanna_ be property...and if I had married her, that _exactly_ what I would be."

"But now you're mine," Rogue said dully. "My property. You belong to me."

He snorted, "chere...I'm nobodies property. I'm just a lost and found and eventually lost again, like a five dollar bill someone find blowin' in the wind, pocketed, used, passed over t' someone else t' eventually end up bein' lost and eventually blowin' around in the wind again."

She turned to glance at him. "You don't see yourself belonging to anyone? Ever?"

"T' belong t' someone y' gotta be wanted, chere?"

A sigh escaped her lips, "what if someone did want you?" she rubbed her 'good' eye a little, it hurt at her touch.

"Then it'd probably be f' the wrong reasons."

"What would the right reasons be?" she asked; a yawn escaped her lips.

"If I ever come across them...I let y' know."

"Remy..."

"Uh huh?" he asked; hands steady on the wheel.

"Are you really gonna stay here and help take care of your daddy?"

He slowed the car down to a stop on the road. "Y' askin' me that like y' think I got a _choice_ in the matter, chere..."

She closed her eyes and listened to him.

"If I thought I could jus' _leave_ and Henri would make sure Jean-Luc didn't _drink _himself to death...I'd leave in a heartbeat...but now..." he shook his head. "Henri obviously don' care...he threw a party in honour of get'n the house t' himself...I don' t'ink he once been up t' even _see_ Jean-Luc at the hospital."

Rogue snorted, "neither have you."

"He ain' my daddy, chere. He just a bad man who took me in when he figured he could make a fast buck on my many talents."

Her good eye opened and she turned around to look at him; her vision blurred, exhaustion dragging her. "What do you mean by that? What _many talents?_ You were eight years old!"

"Does it matter? The point is, chere, that Jean-Luc's only _attachment t' me_ is like a _tick on a dog,"_ he uttered bitterly. "He drainin' me. Suckin' the _lifeblood_ right outta me. Money all he want me for. That all he _ever_ want me for."

"I'm sure he _cares_ about you, or he wouldn't have-"

"Chere...y' don' know what y' talkin' about...'cause y' ain't lived with it for ten years..." Remy shook his head, refusing to hear her. "Jean-Luc isn't sentimental...he don't _love_ me like a son. I don' t'ink he even loves _Henri_ like a son."

"What about Henri's mother? He must have loved her..."

Remy sighed, "That's...I mean...man..." he gripped the steering wheel hard, his jaw clenched. He couldn't seem to finish the sentence.

"Remy...where _is_ Henri's mother?"

"Dead," he replied. Just the way he said it seemed to nip the conversation in the bud; a tone of finality to it. She sensed his silent plea that she wasn't to ask anymore about it and she left it at that.

* * *

Rogue felt tired as she stumbled out of the car after Remy had parked outside of the house; she instantly nearly slipped on someone's discarded beer can and caught herself on the car door. Her head felt oddly detached when she moved and she decided to just for a moment, stay still and try to compose herself before attempting to go to the house.

"Chere...y'alright?" he asked.

"Yeah..." she sighed; her good eye surveyed the property. Dozens of discarded beer cans and plastic cups littered the porch and the grass outside the house; the front door had been broken completely off and was sitting propped up on the two corners of the porch as a makeshift table.

"Fuck," Remy shook his head. "They've trashed the place."

"Wasn't all that much to trash," Rogue commented; she put her hand to her head. "Ah feel a little weird..."

"Weird how?"

"Ah dunno...dizzy..."

Remy walked around the car, "guess that Vicodin really kicked in now."

"Ah need a minute," she leaned against the car and tried to take a breath in through her nose, it still hurt to do so, and her face felt as if someone were pressing their palm hard right against her nose to try and crush it into her skull.

"Lemme take you inside...y' can go lie down on my bed while I get t'gether some t'ings."

"Ah'll wait out here," she protested. Somehow, the thought of going into the house to see the rest of the mess was less appealing than the idea of just standing outside amongst the debris of the party.

"No...I don't t'ink that a good idea," he put his arm around her shoulders, "c'mon..."

As she took a step she stumbled on another beer can, he caught her around the waist just in time and held her up.

"Chere, I t'ink y' stoned," he remarked as he set her up right, he kept his arm around her ribs as he walked slowly with her.

"Ah'm fine..." she sighed, "jus' so dizzy..." she rubbed her head, "and my face is feelin' all weird'..."

"Y' need t' lie down."

"I need to get _away_ from this godawful place..."

As they got up the porch steps, Remy called out for Henri but there was no reply. Sighing, he pulled Rogue's knees up and lifted her into the house, heading straight for the stairs.

"Ah _don't_ wanna lie down."

"Rest will do y' some good," he advised.

Although she tried to convince herself she wasn't tired at all, her cheek pressed against his shoulder and she felt herself wanting to drift into sleep right then.

"For a girl who exercise a lot y' got some heavy bones, chere," he admitted halfway up the stairs.

"Shut up," she grumbled tiredly into his shoulder.

"Guess Henri not home..." Remy glanced into his brother's room before continuing down the hall to get to his own.

Remy's room had been the only room that _hadn't_ been touched by the 'party guests' thanks to the steel door he'd put up. He unlocked the door awkwardly still holding Rogue, and he took her in. "Funny...guess this is like...carryin' y' over the threshold."

"Little late for that," she remarked.

Rogue felt him place her on the bed, the lumpy mattress was all too familiar now and she wished he hadn't brought her back here. Although he had let her go, she gripped onto the other shoulder of his sweatshirt, she felt him try to pull back and fail.

"Chere?"

"Don't leave me in here alone...Ah feel so...weak...Ah can't defend myself if Henri comes in..."

"I'm not goin' anywhere. And Henri wouldn't _dare_ lay a finger on y' anyway."

"Just lie here a while..." she shifted over on the bed lazily, her eyes closed, she could feel her breathing slow and relaxed and even. She felt as if she might have been awake for days and it had all caught up with her.

The mattress buckled under his weight as he moved beside her; she curled up into his side to press her cheek against his chest, her fingers rested upon his stomach, she could feel the hard muscle of his toned abs beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and as he breathed, she felt his stomach rise and fall slightly. She could hear his heartbeat beneath her ear. Although he seemed relaxed, his heartbeat sounded slightly erratic...faster than sense told her it should have been.

"Your heart is racing..." she whispered.

"Is it?"

"Yeah," she replied quietly, she listened more.

"I guess that's just it's way of tryin' t' let y' know...that I still have one."

"Ah know you have a heart, Remy..." she sighed softly against his chest.

She felt his hand brush her hair carefully; it was soothing in the oddest way she wasn't completely accustomed to.

"Right now...feels like I don't got anything there at all."

Raising her head, she opened her eye to look at him, he looked so distant again, just as he had in the treatment room at the hospital while he'd heard his father's diagnosis.

"I'm supposed t' be angry...or sad...or feelin' somethin..." he shook his head just a little, "jus' feel nothin'. Like I got no _feelin_' left in me," his fingers twirled around her hair absently. "Y' might be hearin' my heart...but I don' feel it at all. It's like I'm _numb_."

It hurt to see that expression on his face, it hurt to see him so lost and confused and caught in this strange loveless world of his. He was a grown man who reminded her of a tiny child staring at the world waiting for someone to pick him up and love him.

She sat up slowly to gaze down at him; perhaps it was just the need to see into his eyes properly and know if he really _was _numb or not. He rolled over onto his side to look away from her, curling up in the fetal position. She couldn't help but feel guilty that for months...years even...she'd been sitting feeling angry with the world when Remy had probably been here, with even more reason to be angry than she did. Her life had been _blessed_ in comparison.

Slowly, she lay down beside him again and put her arm around him; she heard him sigh softly in response to this and she wasn't sure if perhaps she'd done something he felt was untoward. It was his fingers gripping her sleeve and pulling her arm closer to him that told her he wanted her there like that.

She brushed her lips against his shoulder, the cotton of his shirt dry against her lips and she lay her head down on the pillow and settled, letting the exhaustion finally drift over her completely.

* * *

When Rogue eventually stirred from her Vicodin induced slumber, the first thing she was aware of was that the pain in her face had more or less returned full force and she felt tears of pain sting her eyes. She supposed the painkillers had had to wear off eventually.

The second thing that she was aware of was the sound of a dull banging mixed with the high pitched wailing of what sounded like a woman in distress. The room was filled with the golden light of late afternoon; had she really slept that long? She sat up, Remy still sleeping peacefully at her side.

"Remy..." she shoved him. "Wake up!"

He stirred, at her hard shoving. "Wha's wrong?" he asked tiredly in a yawn.

"There's noises in the house," she said in a whisper.

Remy sat up slowly, brushing his hair out of his eyes and looking around confusedly as if momentarily he'd forgotten where they were. He listened, his face somewhat serious.

"We should go check it out..." Rogue went to get up.

"No..." he grabbed her arm and pulled her back, "I...wouldn't bother."

"Why..."

"That...that's Henri and some girl he pick up..."

"Huh?"

"They're boning," he rubbed his face exhaustedly.

Her reaction to this was to feel slightly sickened...especially at the thought of Remy's mean-faced brother being intimate with _any_ girl. "It sounds like she's bein' murdered..." Rogue said in dismay.

"Yeah...the sounds of 'bein' murdered' and 'fakin' multiple orgasms' can be mighty similar."

"And you would know-?" she raised an eyebrow.

"Well I wouldn't...not from experience anyway..." he scratched his neck, "but I hear enough prostitutes bein' banged in the room next door t' know what it _sound_ like."

Rogue was sure that with the redness of her blush and the bruising, her face must have been close to every colour in the rainbow about now. "There's no need for _anyone_ to make that kinda noise if they aren't bein' murdered...Ah don't care _what _they doin'..."

Remy rubbed his head, "I should probably try t' fix that front door."

Rogue pulled her knees up to her chest, "you don't even have tools," she reminded, "and the nearest hardware store will most likely be closed by now. It's after five."

"Probably," he checked his iPhone for the time and sighed. "Time I get there, yeah, probably be closed. I might still make it though...I should at least try. We need a locked door on the house at night."

"We should go see your daddy," Rogue realised.

"No," Remy replied, he stood up and paced over to the window; his tone was definite...so final.

"Remy, you can't just keep _avoiding_ going to see him."

"I'll see him when he gets _back,_" Remy retorted adamantly.

"You can't just-"

"Stop harasssin' me t' go see his pathetic ass – I don't want to go up there, end of story."

"We need to _talk_ about this. You can't keep putting it off."

"Yes I _can."_

"But we need to talk about what we're gonna do when he comes _home._"

"We're not gon' do anything. He won't take advice, he won't go to AA, and he won't go to counselling. There's _nothing_ I can make him do. You've seen him."

"You need to try harder."

"It won't _make a difference, _chere."

Rogue frowned, the pain in her face made her rethink this expression. "So what? We should just stand by and let him drink himself to death?"

"If that what he want," Remy shrugged, his expression sullen.

"What do you want?"

"Does it matter what I want, chere?"

"Of course it does," she stood up and moved over to him.

"Then listen t' me when I say I _don't_ wanna talk about this right now."

"Why? Why don't you want to talk about?"

"Because I _don't_," he pushed by her, "I'm gonna go see if the hardware store is open. Keep the door locked if y' think that Henri will bother y'."

Rogue sighed as she watched him leave; how much longer was he going to avoid dealing with this?

_Ah need to figure out a way to help him somehow..._

* * *

Rogue was still bothered by the conversation she'd had in the bedroom with Remy. She couldn't believe he was still avoiding going to the hospital to see his father. It had been two days now...surely he had gotten over whatever his problem was and could somehow deal with making time for a brief visit?

_What did Jean-Luc do that made Remy so mad at him,_ Rogue wondered as she stared down at the table. She still felt groggy and disorientated and wasn't sure if it was just the excessive sleep she'd had in the past twenty-four hours or if it was a side-effect from the Vicodin she'd taken.

She stared at the coffee pot on the stove, she could hear the water sputtering through the centre into the steel filter, the smell of fresh coffee beginning to permeate through the air was comforting and inviting. Leaning back in her chair, she felt somewhat relaxed although she thought perhaps that being in the house should have left her feeling on edge.

"Is that Coffee I can smell?" came a voice at the open door, and her eyes shifted to see a bottled blonde waltzing in, clad in a t-shirt and a pair of red lace panties.

_Oh geez,_ Rogue looked away in dismay. "Uhm...yeah."

"I didn't know anyone else was here, Henri didn't say he had house guests..."

"Ah live here," Rogue said quickly.

"Ohhh, I guess you're family," the blonde said cheerily.

"Ah guess," Rogue admitted with a shrug.

"I'm Brandy," she introduced cheerily.

"Alice," Rogue responded after having to take the time to remember the name she'd given herself as a married woman. "Ah guess it's your old Volvo out there..." she gestured to the window.

"Yeah, that's my baby. Gift from an ex-boyfriend. I asked for a Mustang, I got a Volvo older than I am," Brandy smirked with a roll of her eyes. "Guess t' him that's all I was worth."

_No surprise there,_ thought Rogue.

"What happened to your face?" asked Brandy, she waltzed over the the cupboards to start searching for a coffee mug. By the looks of it, Henri must have invited her to make herself at home.

"Family brawl," Rogue answered quietly, she stared down at the kitchen table.

"Oh, I guess that's how Henri's face is messed up too," noted Brandy, she reached up on a high shelf, the t-shirt raising revealing her panties were Brazillian shorts cut halfway up a very round backside. Rogue couldn't help but feel disgusted and looked away in embarrassment.

"You could say that," Rogue replied, trying to ignore the brazen way this girl was walking around. How could anyone walk around like this in front of a stranger?

"I mean...his face isn't messed up like yours...that must hurt."

"Yeah...it does."

"So where's that scoundrel brother of his, anyway? I haven't seen him around," asked Brandy.

"He's tryin' to fix the front door – he had to go to the hardware store for some tools."

"Yeah, that party of Henri's last night sure left a mess in this place," Brandy admitted with a slight giggle. "So he's gonna fix the door, huh? Well well, didn't realise Remy LeBeau had _other_ talents."

Rogue raised her eyes to the girl, "talents?"

Brandy gave a somewhat serene smile as she set a mug down for herself, "oh c'mon, surely you know all about him and his reputation?"

"What reputation?" Rogue decided to play it innocent for that moment.

"The boy...jesus...he's a dynamite fuck..."

"Oh..." Remy mouthed quietly.

"I mean, his Henri_,_ he's okay, but _Remy,_ now there's a boy who _knows_ what he's doin'..." Brandy cooed appreciatively.

"So..." Rogue said, feeling ill at ease, "you've been..._intimate_ with Remy."

"Intimate...wouldn't put it _quite_ like that, honeycakes, but I've certainly had the _pleasure_," she took another mug out of the cupboard and placed it down beside hers, she poured two cups from the pot on the stove and placed one down in front of Rogue without even asking if Rogue had wanted to be served or not. "Several times, actually."

This was uncomfortable, Rogue thought, as she watched this girl – possibly a prostitute? - sitting before her at the other side of the table with a mug of fresh black coffee, her expression serene and her platinum hair mussed wildly from sex.

"But then there ain't a whole lot of girls in the a forty-mile radius who _haven't_ had the pleasure with Remy, if you know what I mean," Brandy admitted, she sipped. "Sure wish it had been Remy I'd ran into last night instead of his brother...not that I'm dissing your cousin or whatever Henri is to you."

"He's my—" Rogue began, but she didn't get the chance to finish explaining that Henri was now her brother-in-law.

"Remy is just...more practised than Henri at certain things. He goes a lot further into get'n me goin'...he spends time buildin' it up, y'know? He doesn't rush right into it like his brother does, he takes it nice and slow and gets everywhere I want him to be. I don't even have t' _direct_ him on what I want..."

"Oh."

"He does this...crazy little thing with his tongue...it's insane how he does it...I swear it almost feels like he's makin' his tongue vibrate somehow..."

Rogue wasn't sure she could muster up the strength to plead for the girl to _stop_ talking about her husband in this way.

"Always hits the spot," Brandy giggled, her dark eyes glimmering as she seemed to fondly remember situations that Rogue knew she would never experience. "I've been with a lot of guys, but I never come close to havin' multiples like I do with Remy...he the only one who's got the _stamina_ to last and make it count where it needs to...he can fuck for hours once he get goin', and afterwards I'm still achin' for more'. He really got somethin' there."

"I, uh..." Rogue's face reddened.

"Oh look at you...y' probably don't want to hear all this about the boys in your family..." Brandy shook her head. "If I'm makin' you uncomfortable..."

"Well, actually-" Rogue began.

"Brandy..." came a voice at the door; Rogue's eyes shifted to see Henri standing there in a pair of boxer shorts, there was lipstick staining his chest and the smell of too much cologne coming from him. "I ain't payin' y' t' sit around gossipin' like an ol' fishwife."

"Y' ain't payin' me at all," Brandy pointed out, sipping her coffee, "I'm off the _clock_."

"Well hurry and get upstairs and get _on_ it," Henri gestured upstairs.

Brandy stood up, taking one more sip of the coffee, "Thanks for the coffee, honeycakes, was nice talkin' to y'."

"Uh...yeah," said Rogue, flustered.

After Brandy had gone upstairs, passing by Henri to leave, Rogue sighed and got up to throw away Brandy's coffee and clean the cup.

"I didn' invite y' back here, y'know," Henri said.

"It's Remy's house too," Rogue pointed out.

Henri walked over. "Speakin' of Remy," he said rather smugly, "How's y' sex life with Remy? He ain't _wearing y' out_ is he?"

"Ah can keep up," Rogue replied, she wanted to snarl at him, and tell him to get the hell out of her face.

"Y' don' sound too _sure_ 'bout that," Henri remarked.

"_Ah_ can keep up with Remy, don't you _worry,_ Henri."

"I'm sure y' can," Henri said, he picked up her coffee, not by the handle, but by the top, his hand clasped over it; he carried to the counter to where she was washing out Brandy's cup. "And can, uh..." he placed the cup down on the counter beside her, "he keep up with _you_?"

"He doesn't have _any_ problems in that department," Rogue said boldly.

"We'll see," said Henri. "Drink y' coffee and get the fuck outta my kitchen. Y' ain't welcome in here."

Rogue picked up the cup and took a long drink from the black coffee, regardless of hating the taste of it without cream and sugar. "Believe me, Henri, I don't wanna stay anywhere near you any longer than I have to."

* * *

The storm had come on only half an hour after the skies had turned grey; the droplets of rain splattered the windscreen sparse at first then suddenly without what seemed to have been warning, suddenly it was a great downpour that near seemed to flood the roads.

Remy hadn't anticipated going to the hardware store to take nearly four hours; he supposed he could only blame himself for this as at first he had delayed going back immediately at first because he had wanted some time alone to think...time alone where he would _not_ have to face being asked why he didn't want to go see Jean-Luc in the hospital.

With the rain being so heavy and the roads being so wet, he'd had to slow his driving considerably, the car didn't quite have the tires or the power steering for such treacherous conditions. Had he not had a wife to go back to, he supposed he wouldn't have slowed the car at all, and just kept driving at seventy miles per hour, perhaps just taking his chances with the dangerous roads.

He wondered what would happen to Rogue if he had done this. What if he had been unable to break and crashed into something, instantly dying? What then? Would she go back to Bayville immediately? Or would she stay to try and fix his messed up family?

As he turned the car down the long lonely road leading to his house, he decided perhaps he needed to have a talk with her about what should happen in the eventuality of his death. A morbid subject, perhaps, but one that did need discussing.

_I need t' make sure she's taken care of,_ he thought dully. _Fake marriage or not, she's still the only wife I'm gonna have...she's entitled to everything._

It would be a touchy subject, he realised. No one really liked discussing the possibilities of their death and his was probably more likely to be much sooner than he'd liked, either by accident _or _Assassin. Being prepared was vital, he decided.

But still...Rogue wouldn't be comfortable with the discussion, and Remy was almost positive it would only bring up questions about what they should _both_ do in the eventuality of _Jean-Luc's_ death.

Remy swallowed hard at the thought of it all; he didn't want to _have_ to think about this. He just wanted to get home now, and rest, maybe watch some television for the first time in a while and spend some time with his wife should she ever happen to drop the subject about his pathetic excuse for a father.

Something caught his eye in the middle of the road up ahead, illuminated by his headlights. He stepped hard on the breaks and squinted through the windscreen, wipers swishing back and forth to see a pale figure dancing in the rain, twirling around in a dizzying display of water ballet with her arms outstretched and face to meet the falling splashes.

His heart felt like it had _stopped_ when he realised that it was Rogue there, dancing upon the road in bare feet, limbs loose and swaying, body white like a ghostly apparition, hair sending streaks of water splashing left and right with her moves.

"What the fuck..." he whispered to himself as he got out of the car. "Chere! What the hell?" he called out to her, he stood at the car waiting for her to respond.

Her attention wasn't on him, her eyes were closed and she danced in the headlights, her hands now in her hair, her lithe frame moving from side to side as if she heard music that he couldn't.

"Chere!"

Her hands slid down her face, gliding down her graceful neck to brush against her breasts and her stomach, landing on her hips and down her thighs as she moved. For a moment, it seemed as if she were the star in an erotic fantasy and Remy gazed at her, confused and stirred at the same time.

Remy leaned into the car to grab his trench coat from the back seat and he rushed to her. "Chere, what are you _doin'_?" he demanded, throwing the coat around her shoulders and pulling it around her. Her eyes opened and she looked slightly bewildered as she gazed up at him; the swelling in her face seemed slightly better and Remy wondered if it had been the cold of the rain that had done so.

He buttoned the coat up at the collar so it would stay on, her bare hands pressed against his chest and her expression was soft, her lips curled into a strange smile.

"Did you take more Vicodin?" he asked raising an eyebrow; he was almost positive even Vicodin couldn't have done this to her. She was euphoric, yes, quite obviously, but Vicodin, he was sure was not enough to make her crazy enough to dance in the freezing rain after dark.

She shook her head coyly, her hand reached up to touch his wet hair and try to brush it from his face, he flinched out of her bare-fingered touch.

"Y' feelin' sick or dizzy?"

She shook her head again, her fingers danced across his chest, she watched her movements and gave a strange distant kind of laugh, mentally she barely seemed to _be_ there with him.

"Chere...what happened? Did Henri kick y' out? Did he take y' clothes? Why y' out here?" he shook her a little to get her to answer but she didn't respond.

She continued to sway, trying to get him to dance with him in the rain, and it was too cold and the weather was far too bad for him to appreciate that even if she did seem to be enjoying herself for the first time since she'd arrived here.

"We need t' get you inside," he turned her around by the shoulders and kept a hold of her arms firmly as he walked with her towards the car. How had she managed to walk so far from the house in bare feet? How long had she been out here dancing naked? He had so many questions that she herself didn't really seem to be capable of answering even if he _would_ ask.

He put her in the car and they were silent for the ten minute journey to the house. Rogue ran her bare fingers along the dashboard, along the cold glass, trailing beads of water with her index finger as they slid on the outside of the window.

_What the hell happened to her while I was away_? He wondered as he got out of the car; she sat at her side breathing in the scent of his trench coat, her hair dripping all over the collar.

"Wish y' tell me what happened..." he admitted as he led her up the porch steps, her muddy feet leaving prints on the wet wood.

A shrug was all she gave and she walked a little ahead, the bottom of the coat trailing behind her, smudging the mud into the floorboards as she entered the house and headed for the stairs to his room, her walk slow and precise. Her fingers trailed the banister and she seemed to enjoy the feel of this.

"Woman troubles, mon frere?"

Remy glanced up to the hallway above, his brother was leaning over the banister looking smug. "What the _fuck_ did you do to her?" he demanded.

The trenchcoat fell off of Rogue's shoulders halfway up the stairs and she continued to walk upstairs regardless, her body stark white, her hair so wet it almost seemed black in contrast to the silvery white of her streak.

"Damn, nice tits," Henri whistled.

Remy rushed up the stairs, passing by Rogue quickly to get to his brother, he threw him into the bathroom door. "What the _fuck_ did you do!"

Henri laughed, "maybe she got in t' my little yellow pills. Who know, eh?"

Remy grabbed him by the collar to slam him into the wooden door hard, "You slipped her ecstasy! Are you fucking _crazy!"_

"If y' were havin' a sex life, mon frere, maybe I wouldn' have felt the need t' be so...helpful t' y' little problem, non?" Henri laughed.

"Who the hell y' think y' are! Y' tryin' t' fuckin' kill her?"

"I was bein' _kind,_" remarked Henri, still smug.

"Y' tryin' to _hurt _her, and I'm not gonna let y' do that!" Remy slammed the closed door, his open palm just barely missing his brother's face.

"Maybe y' better go take care of her...like a good lil' husband," Henri frowned.

"Y' a fuckin' asshole..." Remy remarked, he let go of Henri and turned to follow Rogue to his bedroom.

"Least I'm not married t' a mutant skank," Henri smirked.

Remy spun around and before Henri could make any further comments, he was smacked in the face so hard it threw the bathroom door open, Henri landed on the floor, slamming the back of his head on the bath.

"Y' ever speak about her like that again..." Remy warned, he clenched his fists, "And I'll charge this whole entire house up and blow you _and _Jean-Luc into oblivion."

"Y' can't do that wit' out killin' y'self," Henri spat blood onto the floor.

"Maybe I'm just crazy 'nough t' do that, non?" Remy frowned, he kicked his brother's foot, "get the rest of this party shit cleaned up. My wife done enough for y'. And if y' ever try t' do somethin' like hurt her again..." Remy warned. "I'll kill y' _myself._"

"Y' don't got the balls!"

"Y' t'ink so?" Remy asked. "Y' t'ink y' can fight me off? Y' so _high_ off your ass these days y' ain't got the strength or the clarity t' even defend y'self against a _punch,_" Remy pointed out. "Y' a loser. You _and _Jean-Luc. Y' can't work, y' can't see straight, y' can't even get a woman less y' pay for it. Y' all call me _nothin',_ good for _nothin', _useless and worthless..." he shook his head. "But y' know what...I _learned from the best," _Remy hissed. "Now get this party shit cleaned up and get fuckin' sober. I'm not standin' for this shit no more."

"This ain't y' house!" Henri retorted.

"Might not be," Remy responded, he tried to calm himself. "But I'm the only one _supportin' it. _So 'til such times as I'm _not,_ what _I _say goes."

When Remy eventually got to his bedroom, he was still fuming; his knuckles were throbbing from punching his brother square in the mouth and he was in the mood to wreck something just to get all the anger out.

Rogue was sitting nude on the bed, her fingers trailing along the edge of the covers, her eyes closed, head swaying again.

Remy was disgusted with his brother for what he'd done. What if it had had a reaction with her...what if she'd taken Vicodin ontop of the ecstasy she wasn't even aware she'd taken? What would have happened? He wasn't sure if that was enough to overdose her or not; she didn't seem to be in any kind of immediate danger other than her somewhat Risque nude dance on the road.

"Y' must be freezin'," Remy sighed; he went to his dresser and opened the one drawer he'd given her; he retrieved her last pair of clean pyjamas for the week; he reminded himself he should perhaps do some laundry soon.

He had to wear a pair of rubber gloves that had come with a cleaning product that had never been used; he helped her into her pyjama jacket and buttoned it carefully for her as she sat so serene, looking at him with soft – although swollen – eyes, seeming to like the way the fabric felt against her skin.

Remy knelt on the floor to help her into her bottoms, her back fell into the mattress and she writhed around, her eyes closed, enjoying the feeling of probably what was the only euphoria she'd felt in her life.

He had to wash the mud from her feet with a wet cloth and a basin of lukewarm water and he forced her to sit up as he dried her hair with a towel, feeling a strange sense of purpose as he took care of her while she tripped on the drug his brother had given her. It felt nice, just for that one small moment in time, to be truly needed; to not have his attentions turned away like they had been the night before.

Truthfully he wanted her to snap out of this high she was completely revelling in, but at the same time, she didn't seem to be aware of the pain in her face and at least she seemed to be enjoying herself for once. There must have been some pleasure in it for her, at least, he realised.

"Tomorrow, things gon' have t' change 'round here," he said softly to her as he sat upon the edge of the bed beside her; she was curling up, twisting the bedsheets around herself stupidly like a playful child making soft humming and cooing sounds as she did; he watched her wishing he could find it amusing but all he could do was find this extremely sad; another mess he had gotten her into by dragging her out here.

_Maybe I should be callin' Wolverine and tellin' him t' come get her...it ain't safe for her here,_ he thought. _It ain't fair on her havin' t' go through all this 'cause of me. I shoulda known I was puttin' her at risk by bringin' her here..._

Rogue sat up slowly and pushed her body against his, dragging her hand up from his knee to his thigh, her face pushed in to his shoulder.

"Not right now, chere," he sighed, he took her hand and twined his gloved fingers with her bare fingers, the ridiculous blue of the gloves standing out against her fingers that were so pale they almost seemed grey.

She sighed a soft breathy sigh that he felt on his neck when she looked up.

"I'm thinkin' maybe it'd be a good idea t' call the X-Men so they can come and get y'. This place ain't good for y', and that's becomin' more apparent every day..."

"Ah don' wan' go, yet," she murmured, she brushed her cheek against the sleeve of his t-shirt, her fingers tightening around his. "Ah wan' stay here with you..."

He at her while she nuzzled and brushed against his arm seeming to enjoy the sensations of it against her cheek and broken nose. Part of him wondered if what she'd said was her talking or if it was the drugs. Part of him truly wanted to _believe_ she wanted to stay...he wasn't sure he could go through all of this alone and he certainly didn't want to lose his only ally here.

"Will y' still feel that way t'morrow, chere?" he asked softly.

"Yes..." she whispered, her lips dragging against the cotton. "It's so nice...what we have...Ah like bein' with you...Ah wanna be with you..."

He was sure now that this _was_ the ecstasy talking. The Rogue he knew would never make such an admission freely, and never put it into words so simply. She would hum and haw and go around how she wanted to say things, leaving things vague as she had been doing all week. Either way, it was nice, just for once, to hear it in all it's simplicity. Even if it was only make believe.

* * *

~ End of Part Nine ~

Thanks to everyone for their reviews, helpful as always and it's nice to know what you're all thinking about the story. I'm glad so many of you think the story is realistic and slightly "grittier" than the general fluffy stuff out there (which isn't all bad, by the way ;) ). You'll have to forgive me for my bad grammar (the beta situation didn't quite go as planned) and my education is a bit poor. I do my best but sometimes my constant mistakes aren't easy for people to ignore. I do apologise :)


	10. Part Ten

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Ten ~

~ Painful ~

* * *

Rogue felt terrible when she awakened at six am; the sunlight shone through the window and cut across the room, the light seemed to slice right into her eyes and it hurt. She pulled the covers over her head and groaned. Every part of her seemed to ache, the muscles in her legs, her arms, even her stomach, and somehow she felt more exhausted than she had in all her life.

She felt around on the bed for Remy; he wasn't there beside her and she felt some sort of alarm as she sat up and looked around in confusion, her eyes hurting from the light. A strange kind of horror seemed to envelop her. Had he left? Had he even been in bed with her during the night? Where was he? What was he doing? Had he perhaps gone off for a secret rendezvous with Brandy?

Swinging her legs out of the bed she glanced down to find her new pyjamas on; the price tag was still attached to the waistband and she couldn't even remember getting changed. She struggled to remember everything that had gone on; for one moment it had all maybe _felt_ like a dream. Dancing nude in the rain, the sensations of it pelting against her bare flesh was like being touched by tiny kisses of electrical charge...but pleasant in a way she couldn't even begin to fathom.

Memories of Remy covering her with his coat came flooding back; the fabric inviting and soft against her bare wet skin, still smelling like him and feeling warm like him. She rubbed her head as she remembered laying on his bed, the feeling of his old crocheted blanket and cotton sheets had almost seemed like velvet and satin against her bare flesh. And the feeling of his kindness as he wrapped her pyjama jacket around her, the soft fleece fabric seemed almost suede like to her as it brushed against her arms. As he pulled her pants up her legs, she'd remembered the sensation of it sliding against her bare thighs.

She could almost still feel it and while it frightened her, she couldn't help but laugh at how incredibly strange it had all been. Had it been a fever, she wondered? Perhaps...perhaps the Vicodin...she hadn't even taken time to read the guidelines of taking it that had come with the prescription.

The bedroom door opened and she almost felt panicked at first, until Remy LeBeau stepped in, looking as if he'd been up all night, carrying a cup of hot coffee, his hair sticking up at every angle, his eyes dark beneath, his skin seemed quite sallow.

"Oh," he said, he stood at the door watching her momentarily, "you're up."

"Yeah..." she rubbed her head, "I feel like-"

"Crap, I'm guessing..." he closed the bedroom door behind himself and came to sit beside her on the bed. Although the coffee had obviously been for himself, he offered it to her and she took it to ease the dryness in her mouth. Strangely, she thought it tasted quite good despite it was not how she would normally take her coffee.

"My brother slipped an E last night," he said.

"He what?" she frowned; her face reminded her of why she had to try and maintain a relaxed expression and she winced.

"You were dancing up and down the road wearin' nothin' but your birthday suit...you were really out of it."

"I...sort of remember," she confessed, her cheeks turned pink at the thought of it. How must it have been for Remy LeBeau, she wondered, to have to bring her back to the house carefully without touching her bare skin.

"You'll probably feel somewhat hungover..." he said, "and sore..."

"Yeah..." she agreed. Blinking, she sighed, "Ah feel so...dizzy..."

"Just lie down," he took the cup from her and set it on the bedside cabinet, "Y' don't have t' do anything today."

Her head was swimming, she couldn't think straight; it seemed to her there _were_ things she had to be doing today...like cleaning the house from Remy's brother's party...perhaps going to visit Jean-Luc in the hospital to make sure he was alright and that he had everything he needed.

Exhaustedly, she collapsed into his side, closing her eyes. End to an imperfect week, she thought, it being one week to the day she'd married Remy. One week anniversary...it seemed so wrong to be spending it hungover after such a very odd night. "How...how did he get it into me..."

"I don't know," Remy said, "I was at the hardware store...got back and you were completely out of it..."

"God..." she put her hand to her face, she felt like crying, hiding her face and laughing all at once, the strangest mixture of feelings that made her stomach churn and her heart ache.

"Don't worry, chere. Y' gon' be fine. I took care of you."

"Yeah..." she remembered, she pressed her cheek into his shoulder despite that it hurt to do so; she couldn't explain why she had this sudden need to be so close to him. It seemed to her she had _never_ felt closer to him...that every moment they'd experienced together since 'I do' had never meant as much as being there in that particular moment. "God Ah'm gonna kick your brother's ass..." she shook her head.

"No need, I did it for you. All you have to do is lay down and relax."

"Ah have so much to do..." she said.

"No...Henri gon' clean his own mess up," Remy put his arm around her and held onto her shoulder to keep her down. "You're gon' sleep this off...y' still gon' be feelin' a little weird for a while..."

"Ah'm fine...and we have stuff to do..." she reiterated.

"No. You're gonna sleep, I'm gonna fix the doors and I'm gonna make some dinner tonight...don't worry...it'll be edible, I promise..." he twirled a lock of her hair around his finger absently.

"Don't go yet..." she sighed, she put both arms around his waist and hung onto him. "Ah don't feel so good..."

"Lie back down," he unwrapped her arms from him, "c'mon...I'll tuck y' in," he said, an amused tone in his tired voice.

"Have you slept?" she asked of him as he forced her down to the bed, he pulled her legs up onto the mattress and fixed the covers over her.

"I'm fine, I'm on my sixth cup of coffee," he gestured to the cup.

"Lie with me..." she took a hold of his arm, "just for a while..."

He looked conflicted about this, she wasn't sure why it suddenly bothered him. Still, he moved to lay opposite her, trying to keep to the edge of the bed to allow her some space. She reached to pull him closer, her head pressed to his chest so that she could feel the thump of his heart.

"Thanks for takin' care of me," she said in a low voice.

"Y' don' t need t' thank me," he sighed, he shifted so he could lie on his back with her half sprawled over him; she found this much more comfortable and she closed her eyes, beginning to feel more relaxed with him. She toyed with a lock of his long hair with her bare fingers noting how silky it was to the touch.

"Chere," he sighed, "I wan' talk t' y' about somethin' important."

"Mmmhmm?" she asked.

"About...what might happen...if somethin' happen t' me."

"Like?" she asked.

"The Assassins get me...or...I'm in an accident...y'know...stuff happens. Death."

Her eyes opened and she leaned her head up to look at him questioningly. She could see much better today, although her face still felt no less pain for it.

"I'm thinkin' maybe seein' a lawyer...maybe write up a will...t' make sure everythin' go t' you...even if we get divorced..."

"Remy, Ah-"

"I know y' don't want anythin'..." he massaged her shoulders tenderly, his touch welcoming and comforting. "But I wan' be _sure_ y' taken care of. And if y' don' want the money, y' can pour it in t' charity, or give it t' Xavier t' invest in the institute. But...I want y' t' have most of what I got...'cause y' the only one who deserve it."

"What about your family..." she asked, her eyes glimmering with what she felt to be the threat of tears; she wasn't sure exactly why this was upsetting her so much.

"They'll get somethin'...enough t' set them up for some time if they don' piss it away. Maybe I can set somethin' up so they get a set amount every mont' so they can't blow it all at once..." he mused. "I guess the lawyer will know more 'bout that than I do."

"Remy, Ah don't wanna talk about this..." she pleaded.

"And I don' want a funeral. Funerals are all bullshit. Just have me cremated...take my ashes somewhere nice...let me become part of the wind. It's the way I always been in life...just movin' with the wind."

"Ssh..." she pleaded.

"Why?"

"Cause Ah don't like this conversation..." she felt a tear slide down her bruised face.

He brushed his thumb – gloved by ridiculously bright blue rubber – against her cheek to wipe the escaped away. "It gon' happen one day. I just want y' t' be prepared in case it does...anythin' could go wrong here..."

Rogue wondered how it was he could be so nonchalant about death when his father was lying in a hospital with a cirrhosis death sentence. Maybe he was considering settling the wrong person's affairs. She lay her head back down upon his chest and listened to his strong heartbeat. She could only pray that nothing would go wrong here. She was too young to be a widow, and she was definitely not ready to lose Remy LeBeau.

* * *

The front door had finally been rehung and Remy had found it more difficult than he'd first realised. It had taken several attempts of moving the hinges and then a flustered fit of yelling and swearing when he hadn't been able to get the locks to work right (and then a further bout of yelling and swearing when he'd accidentally locked himself out and had to climb from an open upstairs window to get back in. He'd always thought that as a man he was supposed to have found fixing things like doors to be second nature, and soon realised that just as with almost every other aspect of his miserable life...he was lousy at fixing anything.

But eventually, he managed to make the door hang, and open and close. Other than the fact that when the door closed it was stiff at the top and needed a tug to get open again, he was content enough with his botched job – at least three out of the four locks on the door were working.

Pop Tart from the cupboard in his hand – not even bothering to toast it – he sat upon the porch steps, sweating and annoyed with himself and his life for so many different reasons. He still had the kitchen door to fix, just as he'd promised Rogue, and he wasn't looking forward to taking the task on after the couple of hours he'd just wasted on what should have probably been a twenty-minute job, maximum.

The ground was still muddy from the rain from the night before and he hoped that it would eventually dry up; the wheels of his car parked on the grass seemed to be sunken in and he wondered if he would ever be able to get the thing out of the mud again.

_If it ain't one thing here, it's another,_ Remy thought dismally as he chewed on his snack, wishing that he were smoking a cigarette or sucking on an icy beer instead.

An old battered truck was making it's way down the road, he recognised it from the distance and muttered a string of obscenities under his breath as it pulled up and stopped a few yards behind his car.

He'd perhaps expected someone other than Bella Donna to get out of the truck; he'd recognised it as belonging to her brother and had expected him to charge out of the truck in anger. Sighing, he finished his snack in one last large bite and chewed as he watched her strut towards the house in black gumboots that looked to be just a few sizes too big, her tanned knees were still splattered with mud nonetheless by the time she eventually made it to the steps.

"Whatchu want?" he asked in a mutter.

"Where's the wife?" Bella Donna raised an eyebrow.

"Sleepin', she had quite a night last night. Y' know me, Belle, I go at it for some time...Mrs. LeBeau ain' get'n' much sleep if y' catch my drift."

"That's funny," Bella Donna folded her tan arms against her pushed up chest, "'Cause from what I hear, Brandy Buckfast saw _your_ wife dancin' nude in the middle of the road in the pourin' rain last night as she was leavin' here after your brother paid her for a fuck."

Remy forced a smug smirk, "What can I say? My wife likes t' be at one with nature."

"That or she fuckin' nuts."

"Maybe her 'rain dance' bring the storm, no?"

"More like she's on drugs, or somethin'," Belle suggested.

"This all y' come for? T' pick a fight?"

"I came..." Bella Donna raised her muddy foot and let it rest on the step only an inch between below his groin which made him want to almost jump up as he'd thought for a moment her foot was going to collide with his jewels. "To tell you that your _marriage_ is bein' contested."

"Bullshit," Remy rolled his eyes at her, "y' ain't got the power t' contest my marriage."

"Candra does."

Remy raised his eyes to Bella Donna suddenly, he saw the seriousness there, the angry intensity. "You got the council of the guilds involved? Shit, Belle, can y' be _any_ more desperate?"

"Your marriage is a _lie_ and you know it," she reached into her pocket and took out a card. "Alice Cullen?" she waved it in front of him. "If y' gonna pick a name for a wife, chere, y' might wanna pick one that isn't as blatantly obviously a movie character!"

"Y' think there weren't any Alice Cullens alive before those movies came out?" he snatched the card for her, it was the fake drivers license he'd managed to obtain for Rogue, a picture from his iPhone had been the one used for the photo I.D. And a false date of birth had been placed as well as only an estimate weight and height. "And how the fuck did y' get y' hands on this?"

"Took it from her bag at the store when y' weren't lookin'. Y' would think for a thief, you would be a little more observant. I _learned_ those tricks from you."

"Bitch."

"And the I.D...it just proves she isn't anyone but a liar, and when Candra calls both of y' t' prove it, y' not gon' be able to. This marriage was all about you _maintainin' _that stupid freedom of yours so y' can go around manwhorin' for the rest of the y' days instead of doin' the _right_ thing and help endin' this stupid war between our guilds!"

"Your _guild_ started this war, why the fuck are y' so intent on seein' it ended."

She looked away from him. "Don't you _get_ that if you don't annul this marriage and marry _me,_ both guilds will be out for your blood. My _daddy_ thinks he should slit your throat and I had t' _stop_ him from comin' here himself!"

"Let him come, I tell him what I tellin' you, I'm married. Get over it," Remy stood up.

"All this t' keep y' fuckin' _freedom_?"

"This ain' _about_ freedom. It's about bein' with the person I'm _meant_ t' be with."

"You ain't meant t' be with _her,_ y' _meant_ t' be with me..."

"The heart wants what it wants, what I can I say," he shrugged.

"Oh come _on, _y' expect me t' believe all that bull about hearts and wants and desires like y' actually mean it?"

"I do mean it," he admitted. "I love my wife...get over it."

"Maybe its you who gotta get over it, 'cause when Candra has y' both before her and sees the lie...she gon' order y' t' get an annulment, and since what _she_ say goes, y' gonna have t' do it if y' value y' life."

"Y'know if _I _ran both guilds...no one be initiated for life," Remy grumbled.

"You can't even run y' life," Bella Donna laughed at him.

"I can run my _life_ fine."

"Whatever. Y' got three days 'til Candra is callin' a gatherin' to discuss this _situation. _After that, Remy, y' better get y'self ready for a weddin', 'cause it _gonna _happen."

* * *

It was lunch time by the time Remy had finished hanging the kitchen door; upstairs he could hear the clattering and banging sounds of Henri moving about upstairs hopefully cleaning up. The heat in the house was nearly stifling and Remy stepped into the kitchen to open the window to let some of it out – not that it made a whole lot of difference.

"Wow, we have a working door."

He glanced over his shoulder at Rogue, who was swinging the door back and forth to test it's working order.

"Yeah, go figure," Remy smirked as he went to the fridge to look for something cold to drink; all there seemed to be was a diet soda that had somehow been missed due to a large uncooked ham in front of it. "How'd you sleep?"

"Fine, Ah guess," she confessed, running her gloved fingers through her hair, "still a bit groggy. Ah'd still have been sleepin' but your brother is like...Ah dunno...cleaning or something up there..."

"I guess that's a good sign," Remy remarked, he retrieved two glasses from the cabinet and placed them down on the kitchen table while Rogue was searching through another looking for something to eat. "Bella Donna stopped by."

"Oh?" Rogue stopped what she was doing, her expression sour.

Remy popped the can and filled the glasses. "In three days we gotta stand in front of the guild council..."

"Who are the guild council?"

"They like...the mediators between both guilds, and the ones who make all the rules and say who gets in to the guild, stuff like that..." He sighed. "They contestin' our marriage, chere."

"Damn," Rogue sighed as she found a plastic box of mini-donuts from the back of the high cupboard hidden behind a couple of cereal boxes. "So...how do we...uhm...convince them?"

"I'm not sure. Candra...she'll maybe ask us questions...or she might be able t' just look at us and know..."

"Who's Candra?"

"An immortal who holds the _highest_ position on the guild council. What she says ultimately goes...so it's her we need t' convince."

"Oh..." Rogue said as she took a seat at the table, tearing into the box of mini chocolate iced donuts.

"I never saw you buyin' those..."

"I bought them at Walmart when we got my clothes," she answered, "It's stupid, I know chocolate is gonna make me fat..." she popped a whole mini donut into her mouth. "But it's _so_ good."

"See, I knew y' liked chocolate," he smirked as he offered her a glass of soda.

She chewed thoughtfully, then said, "so...Bella Donna still _pissed_?"

"She's spreadin' gossip about you dancin' bare-assed across the road. Brandy saw y' and she passed it on."

"Terrific," Rogue made a face as she picked up a donut, she broke it in half and stared at it.

"I told her me and you been _fuckin'_ like mad monkeys all night...the look on her face was classic – wished I'd taken a pic on my iPhone so y' could see how mad it made her."

"But we _weren't, _though," Rogue pushed one half of the small donut into his mouth.

He chewed for a moment, then smirked, "She don't know that. Far as she's concerned, we were up all night at it."

"My body really _feels_ like we were," Rogue muttered, eating the other half, "I'm so sore all over."

"It's from the dancin'...y' get all high and start movin' all energetic and don't realise y' pullin' muscles 'cause sometimes the stuff is killin' pain. It's why y' couldn't even feel y' face."

"Oh..." she picked up another donut and split it with him, she popped it into his mouth for him. "So...you didn't, like..._look_ properly or anything at me, did you?"

"When you were naked?"

"Yeah."

"It was hard not t' look..." Remy confessed. He felt perhaps he should refrain from telling her Henri had _also_ seen. "I didn't have that willpower the second time around...besides...I had t' dress y', remember?"

"Oh..." her cheeks were red as she took a small bite out of her half of the mini donut.

"I don't know why y' so worried about it...I mean...y' seen me naked like half a dozen times now...I've seen y' naked once before too, so...I don't know why the embarrassment anymore."

"It's still weird. And besides, even when _you_ were naked, Ah never looked."

"Out of respect?"

"It's not very _nice,_ you wanderin' around with that thing actin' all like you're paradin' around a prized cucumber at a county fair."

"Y' comparin' it to a cucumber, eh? Am I allowed t' be flattered?"

"You know what I mean," she rolled her eyes. "Maybe I shoulda said _baby_ cucumber."

His face fell and he feigned a pout at her, enjoying just this moment of fun conversation, even if he knew it would pass soon enough.

"A little pickle."

"Now you're just tryin' t' hurt my feelin's..." he picked up a donut and tossed it at her stubbornly. "Y' be the first girl I ever knew who compared my weddin' tackle t' a goddamn pickle. I think y' just broke my heart..."

She giggled.

"I mean, _hell_, I got _nothin'_ but compliments about _your_ assets," he offered.

"Like?"

"Well now I'm not gonna tell y'," he looked away from her, still pouting.

"'Cause you got nothin' nice to say, that's why," Rogue reached out to wipe chocolate from the edge of his lips with her gloved finger.

"I got plenty t' say. But I _forgot, _y' don't _like_ compliments."

"Oh, c'mon," she rolled her eyes at him again and licked her leather-clad finger; he watched her with an absurd fascination as she did so...the way she seemed to kiss her finger absently with her soft pink lips.

He broke himself free of his stare, and said "Well...I did think – and this was _briefly before shock _set in and I had t' get y' out of the rain – that y' got a damn fine pair of _tits._ Nice perky ones..."

"Oh shut up..." she shoved him.

"Nice big round ass..."

"Big?" she gaped, "Oh that does it," she grabbed a handful of the donuts and pressed them to his face, smearing the chocolate and breaking them up all over him.

He laughed as he tried to fight her off, falling to the floor with her, struggling to stop her as pieces of donut fell out of his mouth. "Okay, okay! I take it back!"

"Oh?" she asked, stopping, pinning his waist down with her thighs.

"Y' got the pertest round ass I ever seen...like a pair of fuckin' moons huggin'!"

"Why you-"

He chuckled at the look of anger in her eyes, "luckily though..." he said, he held onto her waist, aware of his face being covered in chocolate and crumbs, "I'm a man who appreciates a damn fine big round ass..."

"Remy..." she warned.

"Okay, I'm sorry..."

She let him go and stood up, dusting the crumbs off her gloves.

He pulled himself up using the table for leverage, "but not that sorry," he said, he gave her backside a smack before taking off to run down the hall, hoping she wasn't about to catch him and kick his ass.

* * *

Rogue felt the same horrible sense of reluctance as she walked along the long hospital corridor to find Jean-Luc's room. Mentally preparing herself for this visit was far worse than the last visit; she knew what was to come now from his foul attitude and so she slowed her pace taking deep calming breaths.

Of course, she realised Remy would be furious with her once he learned that she'd taken his car without asking so she could visit Jean-Luc but she felt at least someone should if both of his sons had not intentions of making the effort.

She was glad she had left early – she'd gotten lost on the road and had ended up having to back track and try again, eventually finding the right road signs leading her to the only hospital for miles. Perhaps it had been her lapsed concentration, she'd found it hard to focus on anything today; she'd started trying to make pancakes after lunch and had somehow forgot to put in eggs, and accidentally putting the butter in twice resulting in the greasiest pancakes she'd ever seen.

In her pocket, she felt her phone buzzing again and she reached into her pocket to take it out and look at it as she walked; a picture of a rather stern looking Wolverine showed up as the photo identification, with the name _Logan_ in bold white letters beneath. She sighed.

Why couldn't he just let her be? She stopped, glancing down the hall, and wondered if perhaps she _should_ just answer now and postpone going to see Remy's grumpy father.

_No,_ she decided. _I can call Logan later...I need to go check on Jean-Luc now. At least stay with him for a few minutes, see if he needs anything or has to say anything important, then I can leave._

Pocketing her vibrating phone, she carried herself the rest of the distance to Jean-Luc's room in the intensive care wing. She felt a nurse's eyes follow her to the room as she opened the door.

No one was there in the room, the bed had been stripped and freshly made; the same machines weren't even in the room. Rogue glanced around the room confusedly before turning into the hall. She called over to the young well built nurse. "Excuse me," she said politely. "Where's the guy who was in this room?"

The nurse looked at her quizzically.

"Ah'm here to see Jean-Luc _LeBeau,_" she said the name out clearly, "he was in this room..." she threw her thumb over her shoulder.

"Oh..." said the nurse, her blue eyes darted between the door and Rogue, "could you give me a moment? I've just been assigned up here from the first floor – the administrative staff are in training tonight."

"Okay," Rogue nodded.

The nurse disappeared through a door leading to an off corridor. Rogue stood idle in the hallway. Had Jean-Luc been taken out of intensive care finally? Had he discharged himself? She hugged herself, the hallway seemed far chillier than it should have on such a hot evening, or perhaps it was just the cold green walls giving her that impression.

Dr. Nesbitt came out of the door the nurse had gone through, her face flustered, her glasses pushed up into her black hair. "Mrs. LeBeau," she greeted.

"Ah just got here a few minutes ago," Rogue said, "Ah'm here to see my father in law but he's not in his room..." she explained.

"I've tried to make _several_ phone calls to your husband today..."

Rogue pondered this; Remy's phone hadn't rung all day as far as she had known, but then she herself struggled to get a signal up at the house at most times, she was sure it was probably the same for Remy. "Our house is...way out in the back of beyond," she explained, "and it has lousy coverage. Is somethin' wrong?"

"Mr. LeBeau went into heart failure around twelve pm today."

"What?" Rogue gaped, "How is he? Will he be _alright_?" she put a hand to her face. She could only imagine how she was going to have to try and break this news to Remy and Henri. She couldn't think of how she would get the words out.

_Oh god, please be alright, please, please, please be alright,_ Rogue begged silently.

"We tried all we could to save his life, but his heart gave out on him. I'm sorry."

Rogue shook her head and took a step back, her arms limp at her sides. "Don't...don't just say you're sorry...oh _god..._" she put her hands to her face in disbelief, "You can't just stand there and say sorry all the while knowin' that Ah'm gonna have to go _home_ to my husband and _explain_ to him that his _father_ died this afternoon..." she felt sick to the stomach.

In her pocket her phone was still buzzing almost angrily against her hip, she sighed and put her hand against it, wondering perhaps if now it were Remy calling; could he sense something was wrong perhaps?

"The nurse here will get you anything you need, a glass or water or coffee..or show you where you can sit down to get over the shock..."

"Ah'm fine," Rogue swallowed, she turned to walk away from the doctor, reaching into her pocket to pull the phone out and check it. It was still Logan.

Angrily she hit the disconnect button and began to walk furiously and quickly down the hall, she had to get home now, she had to break the news. Heart failure...it was tragic, really. The man couldn't have been over fifty-five. It seemed young to die, even for someone three times her age.

The phone in her hand began to buzz again, the picture of Logan appearing again; why was it even the still image of him seemed angrier this time.

Stopping in the hallway at the top of the stairwell down to the first floor, she finally hit the receive button and put the phone to her ear, demanding "What?"

There was a hesitated yet flustered huff coming from the other end, and then Logan spoke. "_What! What the hell do you mean _what_? Where the hell are you and why haven't you answered your damn phone?"_

Rogue hovered, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself down, "Ah'm safe," she replied.

"_Safe? Safe _where,_ Rogue?" _his voice was so angry that it made tears well in her puffy eyes. She bit into her tongue and breathed deep through her nose to calm herself.

"Louisiana."

"_What the hell are you doin' there?"_

"Ah needed some time away from things...to get my head straight," Rogue lied.

"_You with _Gambit_ again?"_

"Alright...Ah'll admit it...yeah, Ah'm with him. Ah'm helpin' him with his family," Rogue swallowed. All he had left now was one brother who wasn't even blood related. Oh her heart bled for the boy; to tell him what had happened was going to be the most painful thing she'd ever had to do to anyone.

"_You need to get your ass _back_ here. We need you._"

"Remy needs me," Rogue swiped angrily at an escaped tear.

"_For?"_

Rogue sighed, her voice shaking, "his daddy just died...like...hours ago...he don't even know yet...Ah'm at the hospital right now...Ah _just_ found out...Ah need to go tell him what's happened."

"_Terrific,_" muttered Logan.

"Ah can't come home...not now. Not yet...there's trouble brewin' up here..."

"_Trouble? What trouble?"_

"Ah'll tell y'all when Ah get back. Ah can't go into it right now...Ah need to get back home to Remy..."

"_Home?"_ asked Logan, a snort. "_In case you forgot _this_ is your home._"

"Ah need to go, Logan. Ah'll call later, Ah promise," she said hastily, she hit the disconnect button and held it down to switch the phone off; at least this way she wouldn't have to listen to the annoying buzz or feel it against her hip as she walked.

She held onto the banister of the staircase, gazing down the steps. _How am Ah supposed to break this news to Remy?_ She wondered in dismay, she took a deep breath, taking in so much air that it hurt, and then she exhaled slowly.

_He's gonna be devastated,_ she thought dully as she made her way to the car, keys jingling in her hand. _Absolutely and completely devastated._

* * *

He couldn't believe she'd taken his car without asking. He paced back and forth across the kitchen, glancing at the clock on the windowsill every now and then to check for the time.

Remy could almost imagine the response she would give him when he demanded what she thought she was playing at. _What's yours is mine. _He could just hear it in his head spoken so confidently in that tone of voice she had before when she'd mentioned the credit card of his she still had in her possession.

Still, as amused he would be by that response, he was also going to be extremely pissed with her when she did return. He'd known exactly where she was going at this time of night...there was only one place she _could_ go. The hospital.

_Don't know why she so intent on goin' t' see that stupid fuck,_ Remy thought angrily as he paced towards the fridge to throw it open and glance inside. He'd wished for a beer or something decent to drink but all that was in there was a rather questionable bottle of milk that smelled funny when he opened it to check.

Remy glanced at the clock again only a few moments later, he paced to the back door and opened it, kicking the screen door out of the way and stepping out onto the porch. Why hadn't she just listened to him and stayed away? Going out there to see Jean-Luc was no good...he could only imagine the string of abuse his poor wife was hearing about now.

_He probably callin' her all the names in the book. Gold-diggin' whore, tornado bait white trash, mutant slut,_ he thought as he sat down on the porch steps, he watched the light the evening sun was casting over the swamp; the water glimmering, the trees casting shadows.

Taking his iPhone out of his pocket he checked the time, only another few moments had passed and he could get absolutely no signal this far from town otherwise he would have tried to call her to demand what she thought she was doing and for her to get back this instant before Jean-Luc verbally tore her up. He held the phone up in the air, altering angles and heights to see if he could pick up even the weakest signal that occasionally he sometimes would manage to happen upon. Nothing, not even one bar.

His stomach grumbled at him; he was starving, but hadn't dared to cook yet; it didn't feel right to cook dinner and go ahead and eat without her being home. It felt almost rude and unforgivable to _consider _doing such a thing as eating without her there, as if the simple act of eating a meal together meant more than it actually did, as if it were special quality time they had silently vowed to make time for.

_Get a grip, Remy,_ he told himself. _Fake marriage, get it through y' head. This is _not_ real. All y' doin' is playin' house._

He spotted the car coming down the road and he felt almost relieved, he stood up and made his way down the six steps as the old Ford Zodiac was pulled off onto the grass, the muddy ground making a strange glooping sound as the tires rolled across it.

Rogue sat in the car for a moment, hands on the wheel, her expression sullen.

Remy approached the car and banged on the window at the drivers side. "Next time y' wan' borrow my car, at least have the decency t' tell me _where_ y' goin'. I been worried sick," he opened her door for her.

She climbed out, her feet digging into the muddy ground; she glanced down and sighed.

"It's just a little mud, it'll wash out of those shoes," he assured, he took her arm, "c'mon. We gotta talk."

"Remy..." she began, her voice soft.

"I know where y' went," he led her into the house; her feet left great muddy footprints across the porch and into the kitchen. "And I'm not happy 'bout it neither. I don't _want _y' goin' t' see him. He gon' mess wit' your head and hurt y'. It's what he _does."_

"Remy," Rogue said again, her voice slightly more firm, "we really need to talk..."

"He picks at y'...piece by piece, gets y' so caught up in it all that y' won't have any way t' fight his insults and humiliations..." Remy explained, he turned her towards him and placed both hands firmly on her shoulders. "I _don't_ want him pickin' y' apart the way he does with me...y' don't _deserve_ that."

Rogue looked away, her expression hurt and lost, she gave her head a slight shake, her eyes – now considerably less swollen – were filled with confusion.

"What is it?" he asked worriedly, "did he already say somethin'?" he asked he leaned in a little and shook her by the shoulders, "did he say somethin' _bad_ about you or me?"

"No..." Rogue shook her head, "Ah didn't see him."

"Oh," he said, he felt slightly less bothered by this piece of news. If she hadn't seen him then he couldn't pick her apart, couldn't make up lies about him and definitely couldn't spread stories about truthful events which would humiliate him or, far worse, ruin his friendship with Rogue. "So y' went t' get y' face checked out? Is it worse? Why didn't y' just tell me? I woulda drove y' if y' had asked..."

"Remy..." Rogue licked her lips, her eyes met with his, "his heart _failed_ this afternoon."

Remy stared at her, it was amazing how five little words could suddenly seem to drain all intelligence and response from him, leaving him blank and helpless. He tried to process this carefully. What did it mean? "But they said that could happen...it's a side-effect of comin' off the alcohol...so...what are they doin' for him? Are they gonna do a bypass or somethin'?"

"No, Remy..." she moved his hands from her shoulders and held them within her own, she kept her eyes on him, her face seemed even _more_ pale than it should have. "His heart _failed_ completely..." she swallowed hard, her eyes blurry with what seemed to be tears. Was she crying? He felt as if he'd swallowed something cold and it was making its way through to the very pit of his stomach to settle and make him queasy.

"It...fail-" he tried to repeat the words, as if it would give him the power to process it more than he seemed to be able to.

"His heart isn't beating anymore, Remy..."

His breath caught in his throat and he looked away, he could see the room and yet nothing stood out, everything was there but it wasn't, as if he were gazing upon some pastel painting with hazy detail. His mouth was dry, he tried to speak and he couldn't find the words; his mouth was moving but nothing seemed to want to come out.

"Remy, Ah'm..."

He didn't wait for her sympathy, he turned and headed back towards the porch, he needed air...he needed to get out of this stifling room which right now felt as if it might be suffocating him. His mind seemed unable to decipher what she'd told him. Logically, yes, he understood, but emotionally, it felt like she might as well have been talking in Japanese or Hebrew, or some other language he wasn't familiar with. He understood the words, just not the inflection.

He sat upon the porch, body seeming to rather collapse against the steps rather than steadily take a seat; his fingers grasping the flaking white rail. He heard the screen door swing open and then slam shut; he felt her hands on his back, gentle and soothing,

"You okay?"

Stupid question. Who was okay after hearing such news? Who could just brush it off and answer that at all? Could he just say he was _fine_ when he wasn't sure if he was? Or should he admit he was feeling oddly numb and unable to comprehend exactly what was going on?

"I'm..." he began, the queasiness wouldn't seem to leave him; he felt so completely overwhelmed by sickness and the heat that he felt his head swim. "Gon' be sick..." he hauled himself up on the porch rail and staggered off towards the swamp to toss his lunch of donuts and diet coke into the water.

"Remy!" he heard Rogue calling after him, her making sploshy sounds on the damp grass and mud.

He held onto the nearest tree, wiping his mouth on the back of his sleeve; his hand was shaking and he was only vaguely aware of it.

"I'm sorry..." he managed to say to her, "I don't feel very well right now."

"You need anything?" she asked quietly, she was looking at him with such sympathy and to have her look at him perhaps hurt just as much as the death of the only father figure he'd ever known.

Remy wasn't sure what he needed or if he needed anything at all. He glanced back towards uneasily. Yes, there was one thing he _needed. _To tell his _brother._

"Henri..." he swallowed, "I need t' tell him..."

It seemed the walk up to the house might have been the longest walk he'd ever had, step by step taking him closer to something he'd hoped in his life he would never have to do. Up those porch steps and into the kitchen, through the house until he was in the living room where his brother was trying to scrub what looked like hardened chewing gum from the edge of the end table.

Henri glanced up, brown eyes vaguely angry with Remy although he said nothing to express it; looks were enough.

Remy stood at the door, gazing in at the living room he'd tried to avoid since his childhood. This had always been Jean-Luc's territory and even now the man was _dead_ it still felt oddly wrong to be encroaching upon it. His head was throbbing now and his throat was dry. "Jean-Luc's heart stopped this afternoon."

Henri stopped what he was doing, his expression dark.

"He dead," Remy uttered, "Just thought y' wanna know...case y' wanted t' throw a party," he remarked before turning his back on him. As he turned to go into the hall, he found Rogue had followed him, her expression full of concern.

"Are you okay?"

Again, what a stupid question, he thought. "Car keys..." he put his hand out.

She tried to speak, confused.

"_Car keys,_" he said more forcefully this time.

Rogue reached into her jeans pocket to retrieve them, she held them out to him, "Where are you gonna go?"

"Away," he muttered coldly, "away from this shithole."

He felt her eyes follow him as he left the house; he was sure she was even watching him from a window somewhere as he climbed into his car and started it up. He couldn't stop himself, though, from leaving her there like that. His mind was too wound up, and he couldn't stay there feeling this way, he couldn't let _her_ see him feeling this way yet. He couldn't stand to feel her sympathetic gaze upon him, he didn't want her trying to soothe him, he wasn't sure he deserved it.

The threw a glance towards the kitchen window at the back of the house as he put the car into reverse, he saw her there, even from so far away and through the glare of the glass he could see the expression of worry on her face. That image of her would stick with him forever more.

* * *

~ End of Part Ten ~

Thanks to everyone for continuing to review, I'm especially loving the reviews from Lizzieturbo at the moment - so many interesting theories and thoughts...I did laugh at the hope for Jean-Luc's death (as I had already written it). Hoping to have part 11 posted later this week :)


	11. Part Eleven

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Eleven ~

~ Preparations ~

* * *

Rogue was frightened for Remy; she paced back and forth across the kitchen keeping an eye out through the window for the return of his car but so far she'd seen no sign of headlights coming down the road although she'd been silently praying to see them.

He'd left more than five hours ago and it was midnight now, which was what had worried her more, he'd never just gone like that before, he'd never _not_ said where he was going. She felt so horribly abandoned as she stood there alone in the kitchen of the LeBeau house, wondering how long it would be before she even seen him again.

She's gone to look around the house for Henri after Remy had left but he'd apparently left before she'd even arrived, his car leaving an empty muddy space on the grass out back, just as Remy's had done.

_Ah can't believe this is happening,_ Rogue thought to herself miserably as she stepped onto the porch; the air was still warm but a slight wind was creeping up to shift the leaves on the trees and ripple the water.

She sat down on the steps and slipped her phone out of her pocket to check for a signal just in time to see that one last bar of reception disappearing from sight. The words _no connectivity_ replaced the name of her network and she groaned as she went to check through her list of missed calls which showed Logan had tried to phone a further three times after she'd left the hospital.

_He's pissed with me,_ Rogue thought as she placed the phone back in her pocket. _He's pissed with me 'cause Ah left without sayin' anything to him, and Remy is pissed with me 'cause Ah'm the one who told him his daddy is dead._

She wished she could call Logan now, just to hear another voice, just to have someone to lament to about how bad things were here, how lost she felt, how she didn't know what she was supposed to do to help Remy. She'd noted during the week – with great disappointment – that the LeBeau's had actually once had a landline phone, but it had been disconnected. There wasn't even a dial tone any more. That landline might have come in handy, right about now.

Finally, through the darkness down the road which was diagonally to her right, she saw headlights cutting through the trees up in the distance, and she stood up feeling relief spreading through her.

The car sped down the road and stopped at the side of the house as she approached; she realised to her disappointment that those headlights were not from Remy's 1956 Ford Zodiac, but from another car which also wasn't Henri LeBeau's Cherokee (which now had a missing windscreen and a busted headlight as well as a few additional dents).

Rogue sighed as she approached the car, the headlights nearly blinding her. The guy who got out was in uniform, she could tell that much. She squinted and tried to make out his features and to her horror realised he was a cop. She felt a horrible sense of dread until he opened the back door of his car and pulled a rather unsteady Remy LeBeau from the back.

She hurried over as Remy fell to the ground, he gave a grunt and a laugh.

"That was assault..." said Remy, trying to get up, he tumbled onto his side, his cheek in the mud at the side of the road.

"Remy...what the hell..."

"You a relative?" asked the cop, wandering over, he held out his hand to offer her something, which she realised was Remy's car keys.

"Actually..." Rogue gulped, "Ah'm his wife..."

"Holy crap," said the cop, he whistled. "Remy LeBeau took a wife? You gotta be kidding me."

"'Fraid not," Rogue folded her arms, feeling quite annoyed.

"She the light of my life," Remy gave an odd laugh, "the syrup t' my pancakes, the cherry on my sundae," the weirdest grin stretched across his face as he looked at her.

"Found him staggerin' from a bar in town; so drunk couldn't even get the car key in the door of that piece of shit he drives," said the cop.

"I'll have y' know..." Remy got up slowly, one side of his clothes splattered with mud, "that that car is a _classic..." _he slurred. "And I'm not drunk...I'm just havin' trouble with my coordination."

"Goddamnit," Rogue put her hand to her face, she felt like crying so much right now.

"What happen to your face? He do that to you?" asked the cop.

"No," she lied. She couldn't explain why – even to herself – that she felt the need to defend him even if her broken nose had been an accident. She moved over to Remy, "c'mon. In the house."

"Next time he gets in that condition, I'm going to have to charge him. He could have _killed_ someone if he got in that car and started drivin'..." warned the cop. "If his father see's him like this-"

"His father _died_ this afternoon," Rogue replied coolly.

"He wasn't my fuckin' father!" Remy pulled away from Rogue suddenly and started heading for the house.

"Jean-Luc LeBeau is _dead_?" asked the cop, he scratched his bearded face curiously.

"Yes. Now if you'll excuse me..." Rogue turned to leave.

"Mrs. LeBeau," said the cop.

She spun around, "what?"

"If he _did_ do that to your face...there _are_ steps you can take to ensure he _doesn't_ do it again."

"He _didn't_ do this to me," Rogue frowned, "what? You think just 'cause he got a little drunk this one time he must be a wifebeater too?"

"No," said the cop, he sighed, "but in my experience, with the _stuff_ goin' in that house..." he gestured up to the house. "It wouldn't surprise me."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded.

"The LeBeau family haven't exactly got a good reputation in 'round these parts, which I'm probably sure you must have been aware _before_ you married into them..." said the cop, "so if _anything_ happens to you at their hands...well...maybe you should call me..." he slipped a card from his pocket, "at this number. It'll get you through to my office."

"Oh my god," Rogue shook her head, "You're actually _looking_ for a reason to bring them down."

"No," said the cop, "I'm looking to make sure history doesn't _repeat_ its self. Have a safe night, Mrs. LeBeau," he said and he turned to head back to his car. "Don't lose that card."

Rogue pocketed the card and shook her head as she went back to the house; she could hear the cop's car pulling away.

Remy was in the kitchen on his knees searching under the sink for something.

"What the hell...?" Rogue demanded.

"Hmm?" he asked.

"You..." she kicked his foot gently, "comin' home drunk in the middle of the night!"

"I went for a few drinks. Big whoop," he muttered.

"You could have driven yourself into a tree, or killed someone, or anything if you had got into that car!" she tossed his car keys onto the windowsill angrily. "Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"I was gon' sleep in the fuckin' car when deputy dickhead caught me," he muttered.

"Bullshit," Rogue hissed. "What the hell are you looking for?" she demanded.

He leaned out of the cupboard and sighed, "for the vodka bottle used t' be in here."

"What? You want to get _more_ drunk? Don't you _remember_ the last time?"

"Yeah, kind of the point," he muttered. He stood up, he was apparently quite unprepared for her open palm to smack his face hard so much that he stared at her blankly, mouth hanging open. "What the fuck?"

"Do you know how fuckin' _worried_ Ah was about you? You can't just _do_ that to me! You can't just _take off_ and not _tell_ me where you were goin'! You can't just stay away for five hours lettin' me sit here not knowin' if you're _okay_ or _not!_"

"I'm _okay_," he assured.

"Ah didn't know that!"

"I needed some air!"

"You could have had _air_ out there!" she gestured to back door.

"I needed some _scotch_ with my air. "

"What you need is to go to bed."

"Why?" he demanded, "I'm not tired! I jus' wanna forget this fuckin' day ever happened!"

"Get upstairs," she pointed to the door, "now!"

"Y' can't tell me what to do!"

"The ring on my finger says Ah can, now get up there! We got a rough day tomorrow ahead of us. We gotta arrange a goddamn _funeral_."

"Fuck you," he muttered as left the room; she heard his footsteps thudding as he went up the stairs.

Rogue took a deep breath and ran after him, "fuck me? What happened to 'she's the cherry on my sundae' crap? So soon you forget, huh?"

"I didn't forget!" he turned around on the stairs. "I _meant _every damn word I said! Fuck it, Chere, y' just don't _get_ how much you mean t' me!"

She stood at the bottom of the stairs, hand braced against the banister. "You mean a lot to me _too, _Remy, and that's why I _don't_ want you drinkin'...or tryin' to _avoid_ everythin' that's goin' on here. Ah'm sorry, sugar, but Jean-Luc didn't _make _it. We both knew it was a possibility he wouldn't. It doesn't matter what you do, how much you ignore things, it happened and you can't _make_ it go away. You need to start lettin' yourself _feel_ it before it tears you up."

"Don't y' think I _know_ that?" he demanded. "Don't y' think I _wanna _just deal with this? Y' don't _understand_ how much I _wanna_ deal with this, but then I think back at all the _shit_ I've been through at _his_ hands and it numbs me. It makes it _hard _t' try and feel _anything. _And I thought _maybe, _just _maybe,_ that _you_ above _all_ people would get that."

"Ah think what Jean-Luc did to you goes deeper than what Mystique did to me," Rogue gripped the banister hard, a foul taste seemed to overwhelm her mouth just having to speak Mystique's name. Every time she had to say it, it felt like reopening a wound and leaving it raw.

"Y' got no idea," he said bitterly.

"Then tell me..."

"No..." he shook his head.

"Remy...what the _hell_ is going on? Ah get that he beat you...Ah get that he _stole_ from you – Ah saw glimpses of it in your thoughts before..." she confessed. "But none of that even comes _close _to what really makes you mad at him...and Ah can't pinpoint why."

"Some scars shouldn't _be _reopened, chere. Some should just stay closed so they don't bleed."

* * *

The sound of a car horn was what woke them up at 8am the next morning; Rogue fell out of bed at the sound and made a hard thump against the wooden floor. Grunting, she pulled herself up, groggy and in pain. The car horn sound was coming from the back of the house where the road met with the parking area.

"What the fuck?" Remy grumbled, pulling the pillow over his head to try and drown the sound out.

Rogue padded over the floor in her socks to the window and leaned out to look slightly right to see a car pulled up in the middle of the road running behind the parking area. "Who the hell..." she frowned.

Then a shock of slightly greying black hair caught her eye, and a stocky shape exited the car, the smoke from a cigar poised between the fingers of his right hand seemed to rise in the air; she could even smell it now.

"Oh my _God,_" she cried out.

"What?" Remy grumbled, his tone immediately told Rogue he had a hangover.

"It's Logan..."

"What?" Remy sat up, "what the fuck is he doin' here?"

"He called yesterday...Ah answered. Ah didn't think he was gonna come _here_."

"Terrific," Remy rubbed his head, "As if I don't have enough t' fuckin' contend with, Santa _Claws_ hit town early."

Rogue dashed across the hall and down the stairs, through the kitchen and threw the back door open. "What are you _doin'_ here?" she asked.

"Nice welcome," said Logan, he had the cigar between his teeth now. "I don't see ya in a week and that's all ya got? Aintcha glad to see me?"

She moved over to hug him cautiously. "Of course Ah am...it's just...such bad timin'..." she stepped back to look at him. "Why did you come all the way out here?"

"You sounded upset. That was _my _cue to get here and make sure you were okay..." his expression darkened as he studied her bruised eyes and swollen nose. "What happened to your face?" he put his hand on her hair and tilted her head to the side so he could examine her face more closely.

"Ah got elbowed in the nose tryin' to stop a fight," she rolled her eyes as she pulled away.

"Looks like ya went ten rounds with Mohammed Ali," he grunted unhappily. "The Cajun do this to ya?"

"It was an _accident,_" Rogue frowned. "God, why is everyone so quick to _judge_ him as the kinda guy who _hits_ girls?"

"Just a question, kid. I'm lookin' out for ya."

She smiled just a little at this, "How did you find us?"

"Asked around; this is about fifteen miles off of where you came with him the last time so I knew I had to be close...I asked around town if they knew where I might find the LeBeau residence, and they all pointed me to here."

"Come on in, Ah'll make coffee."

"Coffee? Ya make coffee now? Don't tell me he's got ya all domesticated," Logan mumbled as he followed her into the kitchen. He looked around, grimacing at the badly scuffed floors and the kitchen cabinets that had seen better days.

"You have to fend for yourself 'round here," Rogue smirked, "Ah caught on fast..." she took the stovetop pot off the shelf and went to filling the filter with coffee and the pot with water.

"That's a hell of a sparkler you have on your ring finger, Rogue. I can't help but notice it's right below a plain band on that _special_ hand."

Uneasily, she glanced down at her bare hand, gasped silently and tried to hide her hand in her sleeve.

"What did ya do? Marry him?"

She looked down into the sink as the water from the faucet filled the poet, she didn't dare answer.

"A response would be nice. Especially since I came all this way out to make sure you're okay."

"Yeah, okay. Sure," she said ashamedly. "Ah married him."

"You outta your _mind?"_

"No...I-" she faltered.

"Did somethin' _happen_ that I don't know about? Did he somehow get you pregnant?"

"Ah can't even touch him," she reminded, a little furious at the question.

"That wasn't what I asked."

"No, for _Gods_ sake, I'm not pregnant," she grumbled.

"Then...what? It don't make sense...ya don't even _love_ the creep."

Rogue glanced at Logan hesitantly. She said nothing.

"Oh come _on_," Logan groaned, "ya seriously can't be thinkin' you're fallin for that stupid hick..."

"It's a marriage of convenience, that's all this is," Rogue said, glancing through the window noting Henri's car still vacant from it's space. Where _was_ he anyway? She sure would have loved Henri to meet Logan...she was sure it would have wiped the permanent smirk from the boy's face.

"Convenience?"

"To avoid a betrothal," Rogue explained, "he was supposed to get married the day before yesterday."

"Ya got his scent all over ya, Rogue...you sure there isn't more to this than ya ain't tellin'?"

"We share a bed," she shrugged, "we have to...Ah mean...we're tryin' to keep up this...facade that we're a happily married couple."

"What have ya gotten yourself _into_ here?"

"It's complicated," she admitted. She put the coffee pot on the stove and clicked on the gas.

"I bet."

"His daddy died yesterday..."

"I know. When ya said it, I booked the soonest flight out I could – woulda been here sooner, but there was a storm in Bayville preventin' flights goin' out 'til late last night. I figured you're both gonna need _some_ help arrangin' the funeral so I _had _to get here soon as I could."

"Yeah," Rogue nodded. "Ah don't even know where to begin with arrangin' a funeral..." she sighed. "Ah don't think Remy does either."

"How is _Remy,_" Logan made a point of using the boy's real name, although Rogue could hear in his tone he didn't like this one bit.

"Coping...Ah guess. It's complicated."

"So you keep saying," Logan sighed. "The Professor gave me a blank cheque to give to you...in case you need anything...that covers funeral costs or anything else...you can write your own figure if needs be..."

"We're fine," Rogue refused. "Remy has his own money..."

"You have _none_ of your own. You didn't even bring any _clothes,_ did you?"

"Remy bought me clothes...he got me everything Ah need."

"This place is a craphole," Logan uttered, "I thought his family were meant to be _rich_."

"No. That's just Remy," Rogue went to look for some breakfast items. "Scrambled eggs?" she offered.

"Wouldn't go amiss. Haven't eaten since yesterday afternoon."

Rogue turned just in time to see Remy waltzing into the kitchen sans the t-shirt he'd worn to bed. Just as she was about to ask where exactly it had gone, he wandered over, kissed her hair, and patted her back side.

"Mornin', lovemuffin," he cooed near her ear, he threw a strange glance towards Logan before going to the cupboard to pull out a packet of Pop tarts.

"_Lovemuffin?_" she asked, blinking.

Logan laughed, "oh, c'mon, Gambit. Y' couldn't have made any more of a show of _markin' _your _territory_ if y' had pissed on her leg."

"Territory?" Rogue raised an eyebrow; she winced and hated that again she had forgot about the pain this would cause.

"He thinks I'm _steppin'_ on his territory, Rogue. That means _you._"

"Ew," Rogue made a face and passed by Remy to get the carton of eggs from the fridge.

"I don't need t' mark my territory," Remy remarked coolly.

"Yeah, so I see. Ya already got a ring on her finger. Guess that makes ya fast worker, huh?" Logan frowned.

"Y' sound jealous, mon ami," Remy uttered.

"Remy, shut up!" Rogue warned.

"So, have y' made an appointment with a funeral home yet?" Logan asked of Remy.

Remy paused, then turned and left the room silently; they head his footprints as he ascended up the stairs. Rogue sighed and rubbed the back of her neck in frustration.

"He's not handling it well."

"Ya think?" Logan raised a thick eyebrow. "What _have_ ya done since finding out?"

"Nothing," Rogue admitted. "Remy doesn't wanna _talk_ about it...we haven't begun to make plans or anything...we don't even know if there's a will or anything..."

"Ya need to see the father's lawyer. Ya got a number?"

"Remy might," Rogue admitted. "But we're gonna have to drive out a bit to get a decent signal – this place has like hardly any connectivity."

"Guess that explains why it's taken so long for ya to answer my calls," Logan made a face. "This house stinks..." his nose crinkled as he sniffed, the look on his face was one of disgust.

"Well...yeah...they had cats at one point and they used to crap everywhere..." Rogue explained, "His daddy used to drink himself unconscious in the livin' room – there was pee on the sofa cushions..."

"And the weed?"

Rogue couldn't smell it anymore, but she supposed someone of Logan's incredible senses could smell it a mile off. "His brother's."

"Where he at?"

"We don't know. He left yesterday and hasn't been back. They aren't really _talkin'," _she explained.

"One hell of a family he has here."

"His brother is all he has left now. Apart from some distant cousins maybe...none of whom Ah've met."

"I smelled alcohol. Gambit been drinkin'?" Logan asked.

"Last night, yeah. He was upset..."

"No car out there," Logan noted.

"Yeah, he left it in town."

"The nearest town is about fifty miles away..." Logan noted.

"Yeah..."

"He walked?"

"He got a ride," Rogue answered. She deliberately kept the part about the cop to herself – at least for now.

Logan slipped his jacket off and tossed it over the back of a chair. "So...ya wanna tell me what's really goin' on here?"

"Nothing is going on."

"Then why do ya look so...unhappy?"

"I'm worried about Remy..." Rogue sighed, "He's so...I don't know...unreachable sometimes. He keeps walking away every time Ah try to talk to him about all this. He keeps avoidin' havin' to deal with it. It's kinda scary."

"He had a beef with his father?"

"He hated him," Rogue sighed. "Ah tried to make him go to the hospital to visit him..." she sighed, "but he didn't wanna."

"What he die of?"

"It's a long story," she sighed, "Ah'll explain it all after breakfast. Right now Ah just want some coffee and eggs..." she grumbled. As she placed the large frying pan on the stove she felt something clasp against her bare cheek and she gasped as a rush of memories seemed to jump through her own thoughts mixing with everything. She broke away from Logan's hand and cried out.

"What the fuck!"

"Hey, language," warned Logan, this thick eyebrows knitting together; he grasped onto the counter, weakened, his face pale from the drain. "Just tryin' to get away some of that mess in your face...can't have ya goin' around in pain like that – especially if ya don't _have_ to."

"Don't do that," she rubbed her cheek. "Ah _like_ the fact Ah haven't had to use my powers in a while, and Ah want to _keep _it that way," she muttered. Although she was angry with Logan for touching her – especially when she had been quite content to deal with the pain that had been partly her fault for trying to hold back her angry husband – she couldn't deny that the relief that begun by the release of pressure from her nose and eyes was wonderful; even the blurriness in her bad eye begun to improve dramatically.

"Sorry," said Logan, he took a seat at the table, he looked exhausted already. "I just don't like seein' ya in pain. Shocked even _Gumbo_ could stand lookin' at ya like that..."

"He wanted to call for you," Rogue confessed, she chewed her lip, "but Ah wouldn't let him."

"Why?" Logan asked.

"Because Ah knew you'd drag me away...and Ah can't go yet. He _needs_ me."

Logan looked down to the table, his expression pensive, "can't help but feel like ya gonna get hurt out here – worse than a broken face."

"Ah don't care..." Rogue shook her head, "You don't _understand,_ Logan. He has _no one._"

"Not true," Logan admitted, "he has you...and he has the X-Men...if needs be."

* * *

Remy was annoyed. He was annoyed that his morning was to be filled with looking at photographs of coffins and flowers with demands on his opinion and what he thought his adoptive father might have 'liked'. He was annoyed that he was being made to talk about what _music_ he wanted played at the funeral, as if Jean-Luc had ever listened to hymns and gospel and had appreciated it any of it.

So many other decisions to be made...where the funeral would take place, how long it would be for, how many people would be in attendance. Which of the three cemeteries in hundred mile radius Jean-Luc was to be interred, and what kind of _headstone_.

_What would you like on the memorial stone, sir? Which font would you like? Which style? Black polished stone? Ah, you're a man of excellent choice...how about this one sir, it has a beautiful rope design with brass inlay, quite exquisite. And the inscription? Special words? Beloved father?_

All Remy wanted to say was _'Fuck Jean-Luc LeBeau! Fuck him! Cremate the son of a bitch and let him burn in hell!'. _That certainly might have made an interesting inscription for the 'memorial stone'.

It surprised Remy how...experienced Logan seemed to be with arranging funerals. He let Rogue and Logan pick almost everything and sat back unable to do much more than just observe and nod, not being able to find it in himself to participate fully in the experience.

Perhaps arranging his adoptive father's funeral shouldn't have been a spectators sport, but he couldn't help it. It felt odd that it had only two days ago he had been considering his _own _affairs. He wouldn't have liked to be buried, and not with a flashy polished black headstone with brass inlay engraved with untrue sentiment to forever rest above his lifeless head.

He felt so disconnected from everything; he felt things, yes, he was aware of Rogue sitting at his side, both her hands clasping his against the top of her left thigh. He was aware of the thick smell of Logan's cigar smoke lingering on the older man's jacket...it made him want a cigarette.

It felt...surreal, sitting there in the office of a guy who dealt with death for a living, him sitting there behind that expensive mahogany desk nodding his head and pretending to be all sympathetic and understanding when Remy knew it was nothing but an act he was well practised in. Remy felt like he wasn't altogether _there_, as if it were just a weird dream he was about to wake up from at any given moment.

But the way Rogue squeezed his hand told him that this wasn't a dream. And he only vaguely heard the guy who's name he had already forgotten making phone calls to confirm which church the ceremony would be held, what time, which date. He barely even heard the date confirmed to him. Tomorrow.

_So soon,_ Remy thought. _So soon...he's barely went cold and we're already throwin' his ass into a box and dumpin' in him a hole in the ground. _

He was glad when they finally left the funeral directors, Rogue's arm curled around his elbow as he walked with his hands in the pockets of his jeans, slow and deliberate – he certainly felt as if he had nowhere to go now and he wasn't sure he really wanted to go back home right now. He was afraid his brother would be at home by now, and his brother didn't _know _yet

_How fucked up is it that the funeral is all arranged and my brother hasn't even found out yet?_ Remy wondered.

"I'm gonna go see if I can find a caterer," said Logan, they stood in the one long street that served as 'town'. "Don't quite think any of us are prepared to cook food for the reception and even if we were, we ain't got enough time between the three of us to do it all."

"I can cook," Remy said quietly, his eyes to the ground.

"No, ya can't," said Logan. "Leave it to me, I'll find someone to do it."

Remy gave in, he was too tired and emotionally drained to argue.

"I'm also gonna try get some stuff to fix up the house – you can't have a reception in the house with it lookin' like a crack house."

Forcing a smile, Remy agreed with this, he reached for his wallet from his back pocket and took out a credit card under one of his lesser known aliases. He went to hand it to Logan, but Logan refused.

"Don't worry, kid. I got it covered."

Remy raised an eyebrow, "I got..._plenty_ money, mon ami."

"I know," said Logan, "I spoke to the Professor last night on the phone when I went for a walk and he offers his condolences and wants to foot the bill for any incidentals the house might need to be _presentable_ to guests."

"Don't t'ink my house ever been presentable in all the time I lived there," Remy mused sadly.

"How you two set for clothes for the funeral?" Logan queried.

Rogue walked slowly with Remy, "Ah don't even have anything _black_ to wear..."

Remy mused on this, his eyes shifted to her. "You...don't have anything _black? _You're a goth...how can you _not_ have somethin' black?"

"Ah don't have anything _appropriate_," she corrected. "Ah...didn't think Ah would have to _attend_ anything that would require somethin' smart and black _not_ bein' held together by safety-pins and a dozen zips..." she gave a half smirk, her expression sympathetic.

"I don't have a suit either. Guess me and you be goin' shoppin'."

"Ah have the car keys," Rogue patted her jeans pocket, "We'll drive back together...so we'll meet you at the house later," she promised Logan.

Logan nodded, before he walked away, he gave Remy a strange thoughtful kind of expression and gave him an odd and awkward pat on the shoulder. "You'll be okay, kid. You're gonna be fine."

Chapter Fifty-Two

Rogue didn't like the town very much; the people were all too familiar with Remy LeBeau, and she couldn't help but catch those furtive glances they would throw his way while whispering to each other. The news of Jean-Luc's death was on the front of the Newspaper in town; his notoriety as the rumoured leader of an elite guild of Thieves made this a headline for such a small place.

When Remy hadn't been directly next to her, Rogue had allowed herself a brief moment to read the articles written about the man, surprised that they went on to say he had been suspected of connections to the infamous Thieves Guild when his finger prints had been found on a recovered item that the guild had been reportedly responsible for pinching in 1996.

While Remy had been trying on shoes in the town shoe store, Rogue had gone to get laundry detergent from the store next door, and had listened in to a couple of old gossiping fishwives who were discussing the possibilities of Jean-Luc _murdering_ his wife. Taking her time in picking which fabric softener had the best _scent_, Rogue quietly eavesdropped on the women, who went on to say that Vivienne had been suspected of being a battered wife, and that her death – apparently falling down the stairs – should have been treated more suspiciously.

_"You know his son found her, you know,"_ one of the old biddies was saying to the other; for some reason she still had curlers in her hair beneath a rain bonnet despite the fact it was sunny without a cloud in the sky outside. "_The younger one – the one who's the mutie."_

Rogue winced at this; had it been true? Had Remy found his adoptive mother at the bottom of a staircase dead? She shuddered at the thought. Suddenly, she understood all too well what the cop had been suggesting last night when he'd brought Remy home.

_No wonder he's so screwed up,_ she thought unhappily as she quickly picked her items and paid. Outside, Remy was waiting for her with a bagged shoebox, his expression dark, his voice irritable when he asked her if she had gotten everything she needed yet.

After trying a few more stores – with only one women's clothes store in town – and still observing that Remy's family were under so much speculation from the gossiping locals, Rogue decided to request they drive out to the Walmart that was almost a hundred miles outside of where he lived. Remy, having had enough of the stares himself, accepted this, and so after finding the car; parked right outside the town's _only_ bar, they took off together.

Behind the wheel of Remy's car, Rogue felt slightly more comfortable, she didn't have to struggle to read the signs on the road this time thanks to Logan and his healing factor's reparation of her broken nose and swollen eyes.

Remy sat quietly in the passengers seat – having been refused allowance of his own car keys on the grounds of his drinking the night before. If that cop happened to catch him behind the drivers seat so soon, Rogue was sure he would be in serious trouble.

She wondered what was going on in his head at that moment. She'd seen the blank look on his face while he was being asked about headstones and caskets and plots. He'd been so lost and couldn't seem to do much more than give an occasional yes or no. Part of her wanted to believe that he was being deliberately insolent out of hatred for his father, but the other part of her, the part of her that really _cared_ for the boy told her that he was just too torn up inside over the death of the only parent he'd _ever_ known to handle anything.

"Ah can't believe Logan came all this way," Rogue said to Remy, now that they were completely alone and definitely out of earshot of the older man.

"I can," Remy frowned. "He can't help himself...comin' all this way t' be with you."

"You make it sound like...there's somethin' underhanded about it..." Rogue frowned, she swept her hair away from her face and pushed down the sun visor, the midday sun was beaming down over the road white hot and blinding.

Remy dug into the glove compartment and pulled out a pair of sunglasses to offer her. "Y' don't think there is?" he asked. "He caught the next plane out over five states and drove three hundred miles t' be with you...y' don't think there somethin' more to that."

"No, ah _don't,_" she replied as she put the sunglasses on, glad of the relief it offered her. "He's my _instructor,_" Rogue reminded with a frown. "Isn't anything more to it than that."

"Y' see the look he give me when I came in t' say mornin' to y'?" Remy asked pointedly.

"You mean when you _waltzed_ in wearin' nothin' but a pair of joggin' pants, kissed my had and smacked my ass?" she demanded.

"Po-tay-toe po-tah-toe," he rolled his eyes at her. "Look the point is, he got all...pissed. He don' _like_ that you got married. He don't much like _me_ either, and he's _definitely_ not pleased with the fact that y' got married t' _me_ and that y' sharin' a bed with me. I was standin' by the door when I heard him sayin' he could _smell_ me all over you...I saw the look on his face...he didn' like it one bit."

"You acted so weird this mornin' it probably only made his opinion _worse. Anyway_..what does it matter...even if he _did_ like me – and Ah _know_ he doesn't 'cause that would be just plain _icky_ – what do you _care_?"

"You're my _wife,_" he reminded.

"So...you don't like it," she remarked. "You _were_ marking your territory."

"Wouldn't call it that," Remy uttered, he glanced down at his wedding ring and absently spun it around his finger. "I just don' like the way he is with you."

Rogue made a face; she felt some sort of revel in the fact she could actually do this now without causing herself any pain, "he's like a _father_ to me, Remy."

"Yeah well...jus' cos y' think he be a father t' y', and jus' cos he might _act_ like he is...it don' mean that there aren't _boundaries_ he'd still cross when it suit him."

"You make it sound like...like he's a dirty old man," she grimaced and shuddered. "He'd never cross _any_ boundaries."

"If y' say so, chere," Remy leaned back in the seat and shut his eyes. "If y' say so."

* * *

Shopping for the _right_ black clothes, Rogue felt, was a little bit of a challenge in itself. This wasn't just _any _funeral, she thought. The whole town had been buzzing with the gossip of Jean-Luc's death and she didn't want to turn up to Jean-Luc's funeral as Remy's _goth_ wife who looked more deathlike than the corpse.

She perused the same aisles over and over again, picking up items that were inappropriate she felt, and putting them back down trying to tell herself she needed to be a little more specific about what she wanted before randomly picking things up.

Remy walked along, pushing a cart that was filled with booze for the reception. She didn't like the thought of him buying so much alcohol, she definitely didn't want to see him getting drunk again but she couldn't help but feel it might be unavoidable.

_Do I have the _right_ to stop him getting drunk at his own father's wake?_ She pondered miserably as her eyes roved up and down the aisles.

"You gon' pick somethin' already, chere? I think this the fifth time we been down this aisle."

"Ah'm trying," Rogue said, "Ah don't want everyone in your town talkin' about me behind my back. Or talkin' about _you_ and how you picked a weird _wife."_

"I don't _care_ what they think."

"Ah don't want to go to this thing _lookin'_ like me..."

"Why not?" he shrugged.

"_Hello._ There's somethin' a little inappropriate about me probably lookin' more dead than the person we're burying."

"Doubt y' can look as dead as him. He looked that way for _years,_" Remy jested. "How bout _this..." _he picked up a black polkadot dress, "this look cute on you."

"It's low cut."

"Good. Give me somethin' t' look at while I'm mourning. If y' could wear a thong maybe jus' in case the wind pick up, that be nice too."

"Funny guy, today, Mr. LeBeau."

"C'mon...least y' can do is _try_ this on...this is pretty _standard_. Maybe a cute little black sweater...some high heels...stockin's and suspenders..."

"Remy, it's a funeral, not a cocktail party."

"Yes, I do realise this," he muttered, shaking his head and putting the dress back.

"Okay, okay, _fine_," she grabbed the dress from the rail and examined it. "You _sure_ this doesn't look too..."

"Slutty?"

"Yeah..." she frowned.

"You'll look like a lady in this."

"Should Ah dye my hair?" she asked, touching her hair.

"No," he frowned, "I like your hair. Don't mess with it."

"Ah've never really _been_ to a funeral before...Ah don't know how Ah'm supposed to look."

"You'll look fine. No one gonna care...everyone gonna be pretendin' like Jean-Luc was a stand up guy, no one really be carin' about me or you."

"They're _already_ whispering about you...Ah heard them at that store we got your shoes at."

"'Course they're talkin' about me. First time I go in there I didn't shoplift shit."

His joking didn't fool her, she could see that dull look in his eyes and knew without a doubt his mind was still on his adoptive father's death, on the funeral, and on something else, too.

"After the wake tomorrow, we gon' have t' drive up t' the Council of the Guild lair and speak t' the council about our _marriage,_" he sighed.

"So soon? They can't give you a break after what's going _on_?"

"No. They gon' wanna know what's goin' on with the guild...they gon' wanna talk t' Henri about him takin' over from Jean-Luc."

"Takin' over what?"

"Guild leadership."

"Your _father_ was the guild _leader?_" she blinked.

"I thought I'd mentioned," he said absently, pushing the cart.

She couldn't remember if he had but so much had passed in the past nine days that she couldn't be sure of anything anymore.

"Did he actually _do_ anything?"

"Guild pretty much runs itself up until somethin' big comes up. The only thing he done in last year was arrange this marriage, and he only agree to that so he can keep tabs on them. Weren't nothin' about avoidin' a war. His death the biggest thing t' happen to the guild in over four years."

Rogue threw the dress into the cart. "Ah can't believe this all went into the _news_," she admitted.

"Small town. Everyone knows everyone else's business, even if you live out in the back of beyond," he grumbled. "It's most likely that Henri has found out by now...not lookin' forward t' seein' him."

"You think he'll even _turn up_ for the funeral?"

"Who knows. He might just go get wasted and show up a few days later."

"What makes you think that?"

"It's just his way. He doesn't deal with things."

"None of the LeBeau men do," Rogue noted.

"I'm dealing, aren't I?" he frowned.

"Barely."

"What y' want me to do? Break down and cry, stomp my feet and throw a tantrum and scream 'daddy I love you' at the top of my voice?" he queried.

"No...I..."

"It ain't gon' happen. I'm not _sad_. I never will be," he said stubbornly. "I'm glad he's gone."

"You don't mean that," Rogue uttered. "It's just somethin' you're sayin' to seem like you _don't_ care."

"I really don't," he said casually. "C'mon, lets go pick you some shoes...and maybe that thong we were discussin'."

* * *

~ End of Part Eleven ~

Okay, I apologise for having taken so long to get this uploaded, had a bit of a crazy week. Hope you all enjoy part eleven! Hopefully it won't be too much longer until part twelve is up ;) Thanks as always for everyone's kind reviews. I can't believe I've had so many reviews for this story! Gives me a warm fuzzy feeling inside, especially hearing all your thoughts (glad no one is sad about Jean-Luc's untimely death! Haha!). Thanks everyone, you're awesome.


	12. Part Twelve

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Twelve ~

~ Damaged ~

* * *

Logan cooked dinner that night.

Rogue didn't expect anything fancy from Logan. He was a man's man. He didn't go for over-indulgent, finicky, thirty-ingredient type meals. Logan was a _steak_ man, and _steak_ was on the menu. Steak and potatoes. Simple, perhaps a little extravagant but hearty, grilled to perfection, and definitely the best thing she'd eaten since her wedding day dinner.

Remy picked at his food, although steak was apparently one of his many favourite meals, he just pushed it around on the plate, took small bites, and combed his fork through his potatoes to make trails along the white fluffy mash.

Logan glared at Remy, "ya gonna eat that, or make a sculpture out of it," he said irritably.

Remy gave a sigh of defeat and ate a mouthful of potato, his expression dour.

"It taste bad?" Logan asked curiously.

"It taste fine," Remy replied, "I'm just not hungry."

"Then don't eat it," Logan replied sternly.

Remy idly drummed his fingers against the table as the other two ate. Some moments later, he asked, "Y' wouldn't happen t' have any cigarettes on y', would y'?"

"Sorry. I only smoke cigars."

Remy tapped his fingers absently on the table once again, looking anxious.

"Nicotine cravin'?"

"I've _barely_ had any since I stopped...but now..."

"Yeah, now your nerves are screamin' out for it," Logan agreed.

Remy gave a nod and sighed.

Rogue chewed the inside of her cheek, "I found some lyin' in the back of your sock drawer upstairs while I was puttin' away your laundry," she said to Remy. She hadn't wanted to tell him about the pack she'd found – especially after he'd claimed he'd quit - but she supposed in extreme circumstances she had to give him some allowance.

"I guess that also means y' found my lube and my porn," he stood up; Rogue got the impression it was meant to be a joke, as she'd found neither things amongst his socks, but she couldn't force a laugh at what he'd said. Today, nothing was a laughing matter, really. "Excuse me, t'ink I need a smoke."

Logan raised an eyebrow as Remy left the room. Rogue's eyes followed her husband until he disappeared from sight.

"That isn't where he keeps his porn, or his lube," Rogue replied to Logan once she was sure Remy had gone. She was sure from Logan's irritated expression she should offer an explanation to that. "Actually, the only porn I've ever seen in the house was in the bathroom. I threw them out – they couldn't have been hygienic."

"Good call."

She gave a deep sigh and shook her head, put down her fork and leaned back in her chair.

"He's getting' ya down, isn't he?" Logan asked, he continued to chew on his steak regardless if no one else seemed to be hungry.

"It's not that he's getting' me down," she admitted, "he's takin' real good care of me out here...even when bad stuff has happened he's _been _there."

"So he's _good_ to you?"

"He's been nothin' but kind..." Rogue replied quietly.

"Then why do you look so upset?"

"It's just I'm scared he's gonna...I dunno..." she shook her head, "I just...I dunno _what's _gonna happen. He's unpredictable."

"He's headin' for a breakdown," Logan noted.

"How do you know?" she asked, she took a small bite from her steak, she wasn't hungry anyway but felt she might as well make the effort to avoid Logan getting grumpy about how little she was eating.

"Can see it in his eyes, in the way he's actin'. Maybe I've just seen too many people grievin' over the years to know how they deal with it..." he shrugged. "Your hubby there – he's cut up more than he wants to admit."

Rogue picked up her glass of water and she sipped from it, watching Logan all the while.

"I don't know if you've _figured_ this out, yet, Rogue, but that boy is _damaged_. And ya _might_ be able to help him, kid, but you're never gonna be able to _fix_ him."

"Ah'm not _tryin'_ to fix him," she protested. "Ah'm just _tryin' _to get him _through_ this. Anyway...how can you _tell_ he's damaged? You barely _know_ him."

"I'm perceptive. I can see the _difference_ in him from the last few times I've seen him and he's _not_ the same. Somethin' about _here_ is changin' him...and that's the reason I think ya need to get him _out_ of this place before it breaks him completely."

* * *

Remy took a deep drag of the cigarette from the pack Rogue had found hidden in his sock drawer. He coughed a little with each drag; it had been seven days since his last cigarette and he felt it deep in his lungs, and deep in his head with that dizzying feeling of utter nicotine intoxication.

He hadn't wanted the room to smell of smoke, it had seemed unfair to Rogue to have her sleeping in a room smelling of cigarettes and ash, so he'd decided to go out for his cigarette; the night was warm yet breezy, and the sunlight cast a soft orange glow over the swamp as he sat upon the small pier.

Hardly could he believe that tomorrow, he would have to bury Jean-Luc. That would be it...no more drunken abuse for what felt to be no reason. No more orders...no more having to pick him up from the floor and dump him on the couch...no more having to stay out all night just to avoid coming home to it.

A heavy footstep on the wooden boards of the pier disturbed him, and he turned to see Logan approaching; his heart sank just a little. He had hoped in that split second that it might be Rogue.

"Some view," said Logan as he took a seat beside Remy on the pier, he took a cigar out of his shirt pocket – it having already been half-smoked and put out – and brought out a lighter.

"Yeah," Remy pulled a knee up to his chest and let his chin rest against it. "Used t' fish here when I was a boy. Grill 'em up in some foil on a lil' campfire...used t' be real nice."

Logan puffed on the cigar, the smell instantly lingering in the air. "How ya set for tomorrow?"

"I'm set," Remy glanced down towards the water. "Got my suit, my shoes, my shirt and tie."

"Not askin' about your _wardrobe,_ gumbo."

Remy paused, he took a long drag of the cigarette, finishing it nearly to the butt, and he flicked it into the water. "I'm _fine._ Wish y'all would stop actin' like I should be a wreck."

"Y' still gotta give a eulogy...what ya gonna say?"

In response, Remy shrugged. "Dunno. Maybe I jus' go on about how Jean-Luc was a role-model...an inspiration."

"Was he?"

"What you think?" Remy raised an eyebrow.

Logan snorted. "I guess that's what people wanna hear."

"Yep..." Remy nodded. "It's expected. T' stand up there and lie in the eyes of God. It the one time only that it's _acceptable_ t' lie, y'know, at a funeral. As long as it's all _positive_ shit."

"I get ya," Logan agreed, he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

"Where's Rogue?"

"Wifey is doin' dishes. She put your steak in the fridge for ya in case ya get hungry later."

"Oh," said Remy. He watched his cigarette butt floating across the rippling water.

"So you and Rogue, huh?"

The sudden question made Remy turn and look at Logan curiously with tired eyes. "Hmm?"

"_Involved_."

"Marriage of convenience."

"That's what _she_ said," Logan remarked. "But I get to feelin' there's more to this than meets the eye. Just 'cause you're sharin' a bed doesn't mean you should smell like each other...it's like ya been all over each other..."

"We ain't havin' sex if that's what you're asking, mon ami," Remy retorted.

"I didn't say you were. And I know you're not...I'd smell it."

"It's not like that with me and her."

"Didn't say it was," Logan assured. "But there's somethin' goin' on. Can see it just the way ya are with her. And I'm not talkin' about that stupid little stunt ya pulled at breakfast neither."

Remy frowned, but didn't respond.

"I think...ya might be takin' this whole _marriage_ thing a bit more seriously than you're lettin' on."

He considered this. Maybe it was true, maybe he _did _see this as something more than just pretend. But he wasn't sure it was anything close to _reality_ either.

"Tellin' ya..." said Logan, "she must care a _hell_ of a lot about you too...'cause I don't think there's _anyone _else on this planet she would have stayed around after all she's told me has happened if she didn't _believe_ you were worth savin'."

Remy sighed, "she's got a heart of gold...she'd do it for anyone."

"You believe that? Or you just want to prepare yourself in case she's _not_ as into you as you think?" Logan queried, flicking his cigar ash into the water.

Remy shrugged nonchalantly.

"I think whatever you guys have...it's...mutual. She got nothin' but nice things to say about ya. Singin' your praises about how you take care of her, buy her anything she needs..." Logan admitted. "I'm warnin' ya...ya better be _careful_ with her. She's not one of your backwater fluesies."

"Are you givin' me y' _blessin'_?" Remy raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm not," Logan answered gruffly. "To be honest, I don't want her messin' around with you...instinct tells me you're _bad news_. My instincts aren't _usually_ wrong," he explained. "But she's _eighteen_ now. I can't _stop_ her from bein' with who she wants to be with. Can't even force her to go home. All I can do is sit back and _hope_ that you're not settin' her up for a big fall after she's spent this past week and a half takin' care of ya."

"Hurtin' her is the _furthest_ thing from my mind."

The shriek of the wheels of a car upon the road caught their attention and they both spun around to see an old Mustang screeching to a halt at the back of the house; an angry Henri LeBeau got out, slamming the door as he spotted Remy at the pier slightly down hill.

"Fuck," Remy uttered, he pulled himself to his feet and started to walk towards his adoptive brother. "Henri," he said as he approached, "I-"

Remy wasn't prepared for a fist to collide with his cheekbone; it caught him completely by surprise and he staggered back, falling onto the grass.

"He'd still be _alive_ if it weren't for you!"

He felt dazed, his face felt tight with pain and his vision on one side was momentarily blurred by the impact. He heard Logan's interference, then Rogue's. He tried to pull himself up, groaning.

"You bitch! You and your _interferin'!" _Henri was crying at Rogue; Remy managed to pull himself together enough to get between them both as Logan got behind Henri to hold him back.

"What the fuck did you expect us to do?" Rogue demanded, "let him _die_ from alcohol poisonin'?"

"You killed him!" Henri swung for her with his loose arm.

Logan grabbed his arm and twisted it hard, "that ain't a nice way to talk to a lady, redneck. You might want to apologise."

"I got no apologies for her! Interferin' cunt!"

"That's enough!" Remy warned.

Although his arms were held behind his back, Henri still tried to kick out at Rogue viciously.

"Don't make me cut those legs off," Logan hissed.

"He was gon' _die_ either way!" Remy cried at him.

"You're both murderers!"

Rogue drew her breath, it seemed she was struggling to remain calm and as Remy glanced towards her he could see the tears making her eyes glassy. "Ah was tryin' to _save_ him."

"Neither of you could _wait _for him t' die...y'both hated him!"

"And what if I _did_?" Remy yelled. "Fuck, it's not like _you_ loved him either! If y' had y' woulda been up at the hospital t' visit him instead of throwin' a fuckin' party. Maybe y' wan' throw another, huh? Really celebrate the fact he _gone! _Then maybe y' can all go piss on his grave, too!"

Henri swung out a kick at Remy, catching him in the chin with the heel of his boot.

Remy fell to the ground by Rogue's feet, pain seething through his jaw and rattling his teeth. He lay face down the grass for a moment, it cool against his hot injured cheek.

"That's it," Logan muttered. "Get in that car and get the fuck _out_ of here!" he pushed Henri towards the car, still grabbing his arms. "Before I call the cops!"

"Y' can't throw me offa my _own_ property!" Henri snapped.

Logan unsheathed his claws, "Watch me."

Remy felt Rogue's arm around his shoulders as she tried to pull over onto his side while Logan was getting rid of Henri.

"Remy...you okay? Oh god...you're bleeding..."

"I'm fine..." he spat blood out onto the grass and sat upright; he wiped his mouth on his sleeve, leaving a trail of blood over the grey cotton.

"Let me see..." she said softly, straddling his thighs and tilting his head back a little, she pried open his lips with her gloved fingers to examine his mouth. "He split your lip."

"I bit it," he turned and spat more blood out, "felt it when my head went back..."

"Your face..." she touched his left cheekbone gently; he had to flinch from her touch, it was far too tender at that moment.

"It's fine. I'm fine..." he got up, staggering; what was it about a good kick to the jaw that seemed to disorientate the hell out of a person? He threw a glance in the direction of the road, he could see the – presumably stolen – Mustang disappearing down the long tree-lined road.

"Here..." she took his arm to lead it over her shoulders. "Let's go back to the house, get some ice on that cheek and that lip..."

* * *

Remy hated the way he looked in the plain black suit. Hated the way the starched collar of the pristine white shirt pressed into his neck slightly too tight, hated the way that the plain jacket and pants made him look lanky like a string bean gone bad. His hair was combed back neatly and tied back in a plain black hairtie he'd stolen from Rogue's temporary makeup kit. He sighed as he stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, a red welt raised on his cheek, his lip swollen and edged with congealed blood.

Thankfully, Logan had given Rogue the use of his healing factor the day before – Remy almost could imagine the way the tongues of the town would wag if they'd shown up together looking like they'd been beating on each other.

His stomach felt knotted at the thought of having to go to this funeral. Each new concern would seem to add another knot along his intestines, the worry of seeing his brother, the worry of how people would be looking at him, the worry of having to stand up in front of everyone and give a eulogy on a man he had nothing nice to say about.

Shaking his head at his own appearance and his stress, Remy went to his bedroom to retrieve his tie, the only thing he had forgotten to take to the bathroom when he'd gone to change following his shower.

Rogue was sitting on the edge of the bed holding a compact mirror, brushing on mascara to her long lashes, making them stand out against her pink dusted and thinly lined eyes. He watched her, and had he not been about to bury his so-called father, he might have thought it was an extremely erotic act to watch a woman apply makeup with such care and precision.

Her eyes shifted to him as he stood with his backside against the dresser, she put the compact down. "Very smart..." she admitted, she put the mascara away.

"Not so bad yourself...although...y' ain't really dressed yet..." he noted, gesturing to her sitting there in a black and white embroidered kimono style robe that had been on sale.

"When you're going to wear black, you don't put makeup on first," she explained, "'cause it's sure as fate you're gonna drop eyeshadow or foundation or _somethin'_ on you and it doesn't come out of black without a proper wash..." she explained.

"Ah," he responded. "See, y' teach me so much," he forced a smile, it hurt his mouth to do so.

"You got your eulogy all worked out?" she asked, standing up and padding across the floor in her stocking feet to retrieve the dress that was hanging up on the end of the open door.

"Nope," he sighed, "I'm jus' gon' have t' wing it," he responded, he looked down. "I don't got nothin' nice t' say. It gon' be all bullshit. Gon' have t' lie in front of God and a hundred other people."

"I think God will forgive you just this once," she said, she left the room with the dress.

Remy sighed and put the tie around his neck, but didn't tie it just yet. He sat on the edge of his bed and held his head in his hands wishing this day could be over already. Nothing seemed to feel real at that moment.

The whole of the previous night had been so filled with _doing_ things that he'd had no time to consider how real or _unreal_ everything around him felt. Rogue rushing from room to room cleaning frantically, scrubbing floors on her hands and knees, marigold rubber gloves up to her elbows trying to get the cat urine smell out of most of the floors.

After Remy had pulled himself together following his brother's attack, he and Logan had spent much of the night – and into the wee hours of the morning – building flatpack furniture to 'dress the house' up a little for the reception. Hanging up new and _clean_ curtains at all the windows, trying to cover up most of the cracks in the painted walls with large wall hangings and painted canvas just to take away the bareness and brokenness of each room. There hadn't been much they could do with the old dated couch other than toss a throw over it and dress it up with some decorative pillows.

The work had left Remy feeling comforted and physically drained so much he'd never really had to stop and think about anything else. Of course, that feeling had completely gone by the time he'd woken up at seven am to the annoying sound of the alarm clock to remind him that this was the day he _couldn't_ ignore or _not_ think about things anymore.

When Rogue returned to the room a few minutes later, she was wearing the dress he'd picked out for her, a black halterneck with tiny white polkadots that slightly flowered loose at the bottom around her knees. She grabbed the sweater she'd chosen to go with it from where she'd left it on the dresser and pulled it on.

He watched her, thinking that she looked stunning despite she was about to go to a funeral and that perhaps no one was quite meant to look as stunning to attend a funeral. He got up and moved over to her, "that looks nice on y'."

She didn't respond to the compliment and he could tell that she didn't think she _should_ be complimented on such a day. With her back turned to him, she pulled on her black leather gloves and buttoned them before tucking them beneath the sleeves of the sweater.

Remy slid his arms around her waist and sighed, pulling her into him, her shoulder pressing to his chest.

She hesitated to lean into him, and glanced over her shoulder at him, "You okay?"

"Stop askin'. I'm fine..." he breathed in the scent of her hair, the faintest hint of violets and maybe roses, he let his lips brush her silken hair and sighed deeply. He felt her hands grip his arms, she gave a squeeze and finally leaned into him, sighing softly herself. "Y' don't know how much it means t' me...y' bein' here right now."

"It's what bein' a wife is, right? Bein' there..."

"Somehow I think even if y' hadn't been dumb enough t' marry me y' still woulda been here..."

"Dumb enough, huh?" she gave an amused chuckle.

"Yeah. Dumb enough. Stupidest thing in the world, y' sayin' yes..."

She turned around in his arms, she noted his tie being undone and she took it in her hands to do it for him. "Stupidest thing in the world me _stayin'_ after you broke my face but..." she knotted the tie and slipped it up to his collar, "Ah'm a glutton for punishment."

"Y' must be..." he let his hands rest on the small of her back, the soft fabric of the dress slick beneath his fingers.

"Remy...Ah know Ah'm bein' a _little_ unreasonable..." she swallowed, "but promise me you won't drink today?"

"Why?" he asked quietly.

"'Cause Ah'm askin," she replied softly to him.

"Okay..." he sighed. He knew exactly why she was asking. She didn't want to have to defend him to the people coming to the funeral and the reception...she didn't want to have to put up with their beliefs that Remy LeBeau might just be as bad as his ol' daddy.

"Promise?" she pleaded.

He took her right arm and raised it to his lips to plant a kiss on the inside of her forearm, "I promise."

She smiled nervously at his kiss, her cheeks pink against her pale face, her expression sweet but unsure.

"Tonight...we gotta go see the Guild Council..." he brought up, just to break the awkwardness she was obviously feeling.

"Ah can't believe we have to do this on the _same_ say we bury your father."

"Maybe best that way..." he shrugged.

She smoothed down the lapels of his jacket, and fixed his collar, "aren't you worried about them finding out about this?"

"I got nothin' t' worry about," he assured.

"Powers of persuasion?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe..." he admitted. "Alright so I'm worried...but...no point stressin' over it 'cause it's not gonna make it any _easier_. Just cross the bridge when I come t' it, I guess."

"It's gonna be so weird..." she admitted. "Going back to _Bayville_ together..."

"Seein' that _all _goes well," Remy spoke up.

"...and goin' back to bein' _not _married. Just...bein' plain old us."

"Yeah. Plain ol' Remy," he moved away from her to go put on his shoes.

"Plain old Marie."

He paused, not sure he'd heard right; he looked over his shoulder at her to see her embarrassed smile before she turned to leave the bedroom quickly, the flow of her dress the last thing he saw.

* * *

"There's so many things I can say about Jean-Luc LeBeau."

Rogue thought it was an odd way for Remy to start his eulogy as he stood at the lectern, his expression dark, his eyes glazed as he looked out over everyone in the church.

There were more people had come to attend than anticipated, and Rogue had lost count. There weren't enough pews for everyone, so many people were already crammed together in the sixteen pews there were, the rest gathered at the back of the church, along the side wall, the large double doors were open and as Rogue glanced uneasily over her shoulder she could see more people gathered outside trying to hear what was being said.

"There's also many things I _can't _say. Pretty obvious why, really."

Rogue glanced back to Remy, he stood so close to the casket that contained the only man he could have ever called father; this was far closer than Remy had wanted to ever be again and she could tell just from his body language.

"I know up here...I'm supposed to sing his praises..." Remy admitted, his voice clear, he toned his accent down and Rogue thought it strange of him to do so when it wasn't something that came naturally to him. It made him sound odd and unlike himself. "I know I'm supposed to stand here and say he was an _amazing _human being...that I'm supposed to be here before _God_ and _lie_ about all he was..."

Rogue crossed her hands and held them in her lap, she felt the tension building in her neck and she glanced briefly to Logan who had a stern yet curious look on his face as he listened to the eulogy.

"I can't do that," Remy shrugged. "I wish I could. The man here..." he gestured to the casket. "He weren't a saint. He was a sinner. He crossed most of us at least once. Some of us...more than once," he nodded, deep in thought. "He drank...swore...everyone knows the ways he had with the _ladies of the evening. _Most of you all knew him as a bad man...and I can't really defend him from that. He never showed any _kindness_ to any of you..."

"Wow," whispered Logan, "just as well they ain't _planted_ the guy yet...'cause he'd be spinnin' in his grave about now..."

Rogue elbowed him to be quiet.

"I can only remember _one_ instance...of him ever bein' _kind_ to me...on the day he found me...first of November, two thousand. I was this starving, dirty little street urchin and I was trying to gather some money for a hot meal...pickpocketed the wrong man, guess you could say..." Remy looked down at the lectern although he had nothing written there upon it. "Any other man might have handed me into the police. Any other man might have smacked me upside the head. Not him. He took pity on me...might have been the only time in his life he ever _felt_ anything other than disdain for anyone else on this earth."

Rogue smiled sadly; the thought of Remy as an eight year old on the streets of New Orleans, all dirty and hungry, it made her heart sore.

"He took me in...gave me a warm bed...food...took me in as one of his own...legally adopted me...I guess you could say it was the only _kindness_ I had ever known since runnin' away from the orphanage when I was six. Bein' Jean-Luc's son always made me question how I had managed to get along for so long without anyone looking after me...but...then soon I figured out I was still havin' to look after myself..." Remy gave a pause, he looked down to Rogue and forced a vague smile. "One thing I can't fault him for...is for giving me the strength to get along on my own. He never mollycoddled me...never worried over me...let me do my own thing. Never made me dependent on him for anything...and if he had...got to wonder if may _I_ would be the person I am today..."

The priest hung around at his back, looking a little put out, Rogue wished this would hurry up. She felt humiliated for Remy...especially by the way everyone was looking at him.

"So I can't sing his praises. I can't tell you all how spectacular as a father he was. All I can say was he taught me the skills I needed to get along on my own. Maybe that's the way _his_ father taught him, I can't say. Maybe he wasn't ever a saint, or a good person. But at least there was that _one _small instance in his life...just that _one_ time...where he did the right thing."

When Remy left to go take his seat beside Rogue, there was an odd whispering hush between all the mourners. Rogue turned to watch him sit at her side, and she reached for his arm. He looked genuinely upset; a mix of anger, frustration and sadness which made her wish she could just take him home and let him grieve without all the eyes on him.

The rest of eulogies given...they _were_ all lies. People Remy didn't even seem to know stood up and spoke – what Rogue decided had to be called – _fluent bullshit_ about the man as if he _had_ been a model citizen. It disgusted Rogue so much that she felt slightly queasy. She wished she had the power to force her way up there to yell _'No! None of this is true! He was an abusive alcoholic who tried to ruin his son's lives!'. _

Rogue glanced over her shoulder to look amongst the people for Henri. He hadn't shown. She couldn't believe it. His own _father_ was about to be buried and he was nowhere to be found. She sighed softly and glanced down to her hand; Remy had his upon it now, and she felt him brushing his middle finger against her ring finger, she realised he was feeling for her wedding and engagement rings beneath the leather of her glove and this surprised her. Was he _checking_ that she was still wearing them?

She looked around the church again, her eyes met briefly with Bella Donna who was sitting with her father Marius Bordereaux in a pew four rows back. Rogue tried to ignore the girl's malicious stare and she turned back to Remy to find that he was looking at her with a soft gaze, he looked drained and dull to her and all she wanted to was to get him out of the eyes of all these people who were judging him and his family.

Rogue felt another stare on her too, and she shuddered just slightly; it seemed to make her go all cold as if someone were running icy fingertips down her spine. She glanced to her left, standing against the wall was a woman with a mane of long platinum hair, her pale eyes – almost bleached out completely they seemed – were alien and strange. The woman had the calculating conniving appearance of a cat with her black tailored suit, her slightly upturned eyes and her small tight mouth painted in red. Her hair was slicked back into a ponytail, one long curl dangling over her shoulder.

She turned to Remy and whispered, "who is she?"

Remy gave a glance in Rogue's direction, his face darkened and he frowned. "That's Candra."

* * *

The whole house was buzzing with people all dressed in black; Rogue felt almost as if she were swimming in a sea of ink as she pushed her way through people with trays of drinks bite-sized sandwiches to appease the mourners. There had been only one caterer to help with serving and she was already run off her feet as she went from room to room clearing away glasses and plates in addition to helping pass out drinks and food.

Logan was doing his share too, of course, and Rogue couldn't have been more grateful. He'd been so surprisingly organized, he'd helped to pull the house together into vaguely looking like a comfortable home even if it was just using a few tricks like flatpack furniture and decorative wall art. He'd been passing out food, clearing away drinks, and never once complaining even when the mourners were belligerent and loud.

Rogue hovered by Remy's side diligently, whenever he went to walk away to talk to someone else, she followed him whether invited or not. If he was busy trying to deal with conversation about his father, she'd run back and forth helping to clear plates and glasses away until he needed her by his side again.

As she stepped through the people, she heard whispers and rumours circulating around the living room and hallway. Mostly all malicious gossip that didn't surprised Rogue. Most of it regarding his criminal activities and his reputation as a wife beater.

Rogue was sure Remy had heard those whispers and rumours too; and what was worse is that she was sure he didn't even seem to _care._ Never once had he spoken up to act in Jean-Luc's defence. She supposed she couldn't blame him for that.

After having cleared away most of the empty glasses from the downstairs of the house, she took a look around the rooms for Remy and found that he had gone missing; his room door upstairs was still locked, but something told her he wasn't inside. She stepped into the kitchen, Logan was there at the sink rinsing cheap glasses at the sink, sweat dripping from his forehead.

"You seen Remy?" Rogue asked as she placed a tray of glasses upon the counter next to him.

"He bummed a cigarette off of someone in there," Logan gestured to the hallway, "He's gone outside to smoke."

Rogue went to go to the door, Logan grabbed her wrist quickly, the water on his hand sinking into the sleeve of her sweater.

"Let him be," Logan suggested.

"But Ah need to-"

"If he _needs_ you, he'll come to you. Let him have his moment," Logan said, he let go of her wrist and went back to what he was doing.

Rogue sighed softly, and glanced uneasily at the back door; it was open, although the screen door still hung in place.

"Look, when you were upset over everything that happened to you...we let you have your space," he placed a glass upside down on the laid out paper towels on the counter, "You, more than _anyone else_, should know how sometimes ya need a little solitude to cope. He's no different."

She chewed her lip, staring through the thin wire mesh across the small field and into the swamp, she could see Remy's silhouette down there near the pier.

"He needs time to get his _head_ around this," Logan explained. "He doesn't know what to feel right now. I know you can help...but you can't _push_ him. He's not like you girls...he won't _wanna_ speak about his feelin's."

"Sometimes he does," Rogue confessed, she grabbed a dish towel and went to help him dry glasses at the counter. "Every now and then...he says things that surprise me."

"Like?"

"That he feels numb..." Rogue replied. "That he doesn't feel _anythin'_ in his heart."

"He feels somethin'...otherwise this would be _a lot_ easier for him," Logan pointed out.

"What can Ah _do_ to help him?"

"Just be there. Try goin' around things differently. If he doesn't wanna talk about feelin's or his father...then change the subject completely. The worst thing about death – especially someone close to you – is when you can't _take your mind off it,_" Logan explained. "So help him take his mind off it."

Rogue thought this was silly advice, even though it sounded like the kind of thing she would have done herself if she had been in Remy's position was to look for distractions rather than look at things head on.

"Anyway," Logan said, taking the dish towel from her, "someone needs to keep an eye on things through there..." he threw his thumb over his shoulder to point to the hallway. "I'll be fine in here..."

Nodding, she smoothed her hair back from her face and went back to the hallway just in time to see a heavy-set black woman coming in through the open front door, her wild curly hair smoothed away from her face with a coloured scarf, large earrings dangling from her ears like chandeliers.

Rogue had never seen the woman before in her life, but she felt an odd sense of _knowing_ who the woman was, not by name but by memory somehow. She had to wonder if any of Remy's residual memories from times before had lingered in her long enough to give her the ability to recognise the woman.

The woman approached Rogue – seeming to be able to tell her apart from the crowd at once and Rogue wondered what it had been about herself that stood out so much other than her hair to make this woman think she had anything to do specifically with the LeBeau family other than being one of the town's professional mourners.

"I'm looking for Remy LeBeau," said the woman, her voice smooth, her accent rich, her brown eyes seemed to have the slightest hint of gold in them which gave her such a warm and comforting appearance. Rogue felt almost instantly charmed by her.

"He's ...out havin' a cigarette," Rogue said uneasily; she wished Remy hadn't gone off to smoke alone and had at least asked her to keep him company while he did even if she _couldn't_ stand the smell of the foul smoke.

"I've been tellin' that boy to stop smokin' for years; pity he never took my advice," the woman gave a sweet honeyed laugh.

"He did stop...for a week or so," Rogue admitted, "but under the circumstances."

"Of course..." the woman nodded, "You...I think I know who_ you_ are. Can't live in such a _small_ community without hearin' a rumour or two. You must be the new ball and chain."

Rogue smiled a little, "that sounds about right._._"

She reached out her hand for Rogue's, "Mattie," she introduced. "But everyone call me Tante Mattie whether they related or not."

"Tante..." Rogue said thinking, "that's _aunt,_ isn't it?"

"That's right," said Tante Mattie, smiling with her large perfect white teeth, lips thick with red lipstick, "now...your name?"

Again, she had to think about her name, and she said "Alice..." she answered, "but everyone calls me Rogue..." she shook the woman's hand warmly.

Tante Mattie tilted her head and looked at her curiously, "Alice doesn't suit you...but Rogue does..." she placed a hand on Rogue's shoulder. "How is Remy holding up?"

"He's...uhm...it's hard to say," Rogue confessed, she chewed her lip. "It's been a rough week."

"I was so shocked to hear of his passing. No one knew he was in hospital let alone that he was so ill. His death _shouldn't_ come as such a shock though, considerin' his fondness for the drink."

"Ah barely knew him," Rogue said, she stared at the woman, "how did you know him? Ah mean...Ah don't mean to sound rude, Ah just wondered if you were friends or-"

"No, that's fine," Tante Mattie assured. "I took care of Remy and Henri for a time."

"You did?" Rogue was surprised by this revelation.

"I took care of all the kids around these parts...the special ones..." Tante Mattie explained, she patted her nose and winked.

Rogue blinked, "oh..."

"I'm sure Remy must have explained to you about _that."_

"A whole lot goes unsaid with Remy."

"Certainly true," Tante Mattie confessed. "Certainly true."

"So...were you friendly with his daddy at all?" Rogue queried.

"Friendly, no...he didn't approve of the way I took care of Remy...smotherin' a child with love was somethin' to be _frowned_ upon in the LeBeau house."

"Yeah...I kind of saw that," Rogue confessed awkwardly.

"He had those boys believin' love didn't _exist._"

"Tante Mattie!"

Rogue heard Remy's surprised tone from somewhere behind her and she turned to see him walking towards them both, his smile oddly beaming, his eyes glittering for the first time in days.

"Oh my boy," said Tante Mattie reaching for Remy's face and pinching both his cheeks in fingers, long red fingernails gleaming in the light. "Look at you in your suit and tie...so grown up...so _handsome_. It's been too damn long."

Rogue watched Remy give her a hearty hug, his arms around her large body and holding on tight. She watched as the woman kissed his forehead, leaving her red lipstick mark upon his smooth tan skin. Rogue couldn't help but feel just a little jealous that she herself couldn't even offer that soft affectionate kiss even in a platonic sense.

"You look stunnin'," Remy complimented, he moved back to look at her, his smile light and carefree for just a moment, and Rogue wished she could have been the one to take the weight of death off his shoulders the way this woman's presence seemed to have done almost instantly.

"I was so shocked to hear of your father's passin'. Fifty-four is such a young age..." Tante Mattie sighed.

"For a guy who drank as much as he did...fifty-four is practically old age."

"How are you holding up?" Tante Mattie asked worriedly.

"I'm fine," Remy nodded.

"No you're not, and you know better than to hide that from me," Mattie chided, her hand cupped Remy's sore cheek, "and look at this...who did this to you? Not that no-good brother of yours?"

"Yeah," Remy sighed, "he got a little mad last night."

"Where he hidin'?" Tante Mattie demanded, "I'll give that boy what for." she made a fist and smacked it into her open palm suggestively, but a twinkle in her eyes seemed to indicate she wouldn't go as far as she'd gestured.

"We haven't seen him since last night," Rogue replied softly.

"He'll come back eventually – with his tail between his legs," Tante Mattie frowned.

"Yeah...when needs money for boozes, weed, coke or hookers. Or all of the above."

"Everyone has their way of coping with things," Mattie reminded. "You have someone to help you through it...Henri has always been the one to go through things alone."

Remy reached for Rogue's hand, "I guess y' already met my wife..." he gestured to Rogue with a slight smile.

"Of course. I knew her straight away," Tante Mattie grinned, "you two – look at you together. Such symmetry..."

"Symmetry?" Rogue raised an eyebrow.

"Somethin' about you two, standin' together...there's a feelin' of _balance_ between you...like you two are _on_ the same wavelength..."

Rogue tilted her head, "are you telepathic...or empathic?"

"No. I'm not even a mutant like you two...Just perceptive," she replied. "I can look at you and see _chemistry_. It's _hot!_ Makin' me tingle all over it's so powerful," she feigned a shiver, and chuckled. "Woo, it's so strong!"

Remy said nothing, but he had a faint smirk on his face. Rogue cleared her throat, "You think we have chemistry?"

"Oh I know you have. Such a strong bond...I can feel it. Didn't think I'd ever see the day when Remy LeBeau would fall in love much less take a wife...Oh I wish I'd been there to see you two at the alter...would have made my day to see my little boy tie the knot..." Tante Mattie grinned with such an odd delirious happiness that made Rogue for one minute think the woman might be extremely proud.

Rogue glanced at Remy to see his cheeks were flushed with pink, was he embarrassed? He wasn't generally the kind of boy to get embarrassed easily so something else had caused him to go so pink in the face.

"Excuse me," Remy said quietly, "gon' go see if I skip the line for the bathroom up there..." he gestured upstairs. "Too much _damn coffee_."

Tante Mattie hooked her arm with Rogue's. "C'mon, child, it's a bit crowded in here. Let's walk outside for a bit. Such a nice night."

Rogue nodded, and threw one glance over her shoulder to look up the stairs as Remy made his way up. Outside the air was hot and stuffy, a few of the mourners were gathered on the porch, but Mattie and Rogue walked further away from them, down towards the edge of the water out of earshot from everyone else.

"How is he _really _holding up?" Mattie asked.

Rogue sighed, "to be _honest_...not so good. Only he won't _say_ so."

"That's always been Remy's way. And it makes sense when you understand his upbringing here...he was _taught_ that feelings were a _weakness_. And he _still_ believes that from time to time."

"That sure explains a lot," Rogue admitted, she stared down at the water. "Sometimes I get the feelin' he's _keepin' _things from me...and it scares me that he _would._"

Tante Mattie gave a long and deep sigh, "that boy has so many demons, chere. Horrible things went on in that house..."

"I heard about his mother..." Rogue admitted, "it's buzzing all about town about how she fell down the stairs and broke her neck...people are sayin' Remy was the one who _found_ her..."

"The big rumour goin' around was that Jean-Luc _threw_ her down them steps. He could well have, and we'll never know...he used to beat that woman _senseless_. I used to have to go take care of her some days when she could barely move she was so bruised. I remember one day, Remy was eleven...he came near tears tellin' me that he'd saw Jean-Luc corner her...beat her with the hose from a vaccuum cleaner. Not the plastic kind, neither."

"Oh god," Rogue felt sick. She had an image in her head of a faceless woman being beaten senseless...a faceless woman lying at the bottom of the long staircase in the house.

"Remy tried to interfere...and his daddy locked him in the hall closet," Tante Mattie frowned, her expression angry. "There were so many more incidents...things that continued to happen up 'til that woman died. I guess I should really hush – it ain't fittin' to speak ill of the dead even if they were cruel in life."

"Why would his wife _stay_ and take that?" Rogue asked.

"She was scared to press charges against him – she could have had him put away for at least _a few_ years. But there was always that risk of what would happen when he got back out of prison that scared her. Plus...she loved him. And love make you do some pretty funny things, chere. Make you cover up and _lie_ for someone else." Mattie sighed and she let go of Rogue's arm to remove a fold away fan from her purse and began to fan herself down, a trickle of sweat seemed to dance down the side of her face. "Remy still does it. Still coverin' up, still lyin' for that man."

"There's _somethin'_ he isn't sayin'," Rogue admitted. She folded her arms and looked down to the ground. "He goes on about the _things_ Jean-Luc put him through but never _says_ what they were...told me those were things made him feel so..."

"Numb."

"Yeah..." Rogue nodded.

"Some things ain't my place to say," Mattie admitted, "If you really wanna know...you gotta be direct and _ask_ him. And even then I wouldn't _suggest_ you do...some scars..." she shook her head in dismay.

"Some scars shouldn't be reopened."

* * *

Rogue couldn't shake off that horrible image she had in her head of a woman at the bottom of the stairs broken and bruised, dead. Of course, the imagination was a horrible thing, and she could only imagine how it had been for Remy to have seen what it was rumoured he had seen.

As she entered the house once again, leaving Tante Mattie outside talking to some of the other mourners, she glanced around for Remy but saw no sign of him. She asked around, no one seemed to have any idea of where he had gone.

Her feet were killing her in the stiletto heels Remy had picked out for her to wear. She couldn't imagine _why_ he would want to inflict pain on her just for the sheer enjoyment in seeing her try to walk in them but she'd gone along with his choice because he seemed to know what one would wear to a funeral more than she did. She couldn't imagine her black sneakers would have been adequate but she was now considering changing into them; she'd been on her feet for most of the day and was already feeling the blisters at her heels and at the side of her toes.

Slipping out of her shoes and sighing in relief at the cool soothing temperature of the floorboards, she began to make her way upstairs, shoes dangling from her hand as she went. As she reached the top, she noted Remy's bedroom door was sitting slightly ajar, and inside she could hear voices.

Curious, with a strange sense of foreboding sitting right in the pit of her stomach, she edged closer and tried to listen over the mumble of voices below.

"Y' only makin' this _harder_ on y'self."

Rogue raised an eyebrow and tried to look through the gap the ajar door left her to see through. She couldn't see much other than the edge of Bella Donna Bordereaux's black and pink flowered dress.

"Y' know me, Belle. I like a challenge."  
"Pretty pointless challenge. When Candra get you and that freak of yours before her, y' gonna be ordered to get annulled. She'll have y' marched t' a lawyer for it t'morrow morning. I'll be _easy _t' get that done – her _name_ isn't even real. That'd be approved in seconds."

"We'll see," Remy uttered.

"We all _know_ what that girl can do, chere. My cousins told me...said she can't _touch_ anyone without near killin' them. And y' can't even _fuck_ her," Bella Donna said harshly. Rogue hated the word 'fuck' being used in such a way.

"If y' say so," Remy replied. Rogue couldn't see him from where she stood but he sounded confident although slightly tired.

"Y' gon' live the rest of your _life_ like that...never get'n any? Never feelin' the _touch_ of a woman again?"

"What makes y' think I'd be livin' my life like that?" Remy asked.

"If y' stay with her...that's exactly how it be..." Bella Donna remarked. "It'll be _real_ lonely. And every time y' look at her and think about what y' _can't_ do...y' gonna remember all the things y' _could_ do with me..."

Rogue pushed the door a little, very slightly, trying to see through a little more. She could see Remy now, he was standing near the dresser, his expression dour, Bella Donna stood in front of him, her hands on his arms.

"We had some good times..." Bella Donna reminded.

Remy turned his head away from her, "those times are over. It don't _have_ t' be this way. Y' could just let it go and we can be _friends."_

_"_I can't _be_ friends with you. I _love_ y' more than I've loved_ anyone_ before," Bella Donna sighed.

"I don' love y' back, though. I love_ her."_

_"_I'm not so _sure_ 'bout that," Bella Donna put her bare hand upon his cheek, caressing his bruise tenderly with the back of her fingers, he turned to look at her, his expression lost. "Y' _used_ t' care 'bout me..." she reminded.

"I care 'bout y'. Just don't _love _y' like _that._"

Bella Donna shook her head, "No...I can't _believe_ that. If there was _any_ doubt in your mind you wouldn't _be _here. You'd have _walked out_ of this room."

Remy shook his head too, "no. It's not my _place _t' leave my own room, Belle. It's yours. Y' out of line. I can't _make _it any clearer."

"You can't _have_ with her what you can _have_ with me."

He shrugged, "maybe. But with her there's a lot more I _can_ have...it goes deeper..."

"Deeper than what _we_ had? I don't think so," Bella Donna frowned.

"It _is_ though. It's deep...so deep it cuts me t' the _bone_. I've never _had_ it like this before..."

"Had _what_?" Bella Donna demanded.

"Passion."

"For _her_?"

"Yes."

"You had passion for me..." Bella Donna took his face in her hands and Rogue felt instant fury boiling away inside of her that made her want to throw the door open and slap the girl for even putting her skin against his.

"I had lust for y'...never passion. Never _love_."

Bella Donna leaned forward to kiss Remy and Rogue's heart sank, she felt her eyes water and her jaw clench, and her ears seemed to hurt at that soft smacking sound of lips upon lips. Remy was kissing her _back_. Her _husband_ was kissing someone who was _not_ her and she wanted to kick the door open and throw her stilettos at them both.

And then Remy seemed to come to his senses, his hand hit Bella Donna's shoulder and he pushed her away roughly. "Stop it."

"You kissed me back..."

"You weren't who I was thinkin' about when I did," he pushed himself away from the dresser. "I don't _want_ this...I want you out."

"But-"

"I don't _want_ to kiss you. I don't want to _marry_ you. I don't _want_ to have children with you and I certainly don't want to spend the rest of my _life_ in this shitstained hole of a town with you!" he suddenly yelled. "I'm leavin'!"

"If Candra says you can," Bella Donna pointed out with a smirk.

Rogue pushed the door open and stepped into the room, her face red with fury, her heart thudding hard in her chest. Remy glanced towards her guiltily, he seemed to immediately sense what she'd seen even if he hadn't noticed the door had been unlocked and hanging open. Bella Donna's face was merely smug, and she passed by Rogue without a word, the door swung closed behind her.

"Chere..." he said.

Rogue tossed a stiletto at him, "you-"

"I _didn't_ make that move."

"You certainly took your time in stoppin' it," Rogue tossed the other one at him, he threw his arm up to block it.

"If y' saw the whole thing y' _know_ I told her how I felt."

"How am Ah meant to believe anythin'!" Rogue demanded, "and how are we supposed to convince _Candra_ that we're married if you can't even convince _me!"_

"Y' know what, this is a _rough _day, can't y' just cut me just a _little _slack?" he demanded.

She folded her arms and looked away from him, her teeth gritted in anger.

"She caught me off _guard_...I reacted slow...I wasn't _thinkin'_ clearly!"

"Why was she _in_ here?"

"She followed me in...wanted t' offer me her _condolences _sincerely, was what she said. Then started goin' on about how we should be together...and that she could _help_ me get over this..."

Rogue walked over to the window and glanced outside, the sun was setting now, and many of the mourners were starting to leave, thankfully. "You don't think she _knew_ what she was doing? She's tryin' to _confuse_ you...she's gonna make it harder for us to convince Candra about us at _all_ now."

She heard him come up behind her, and he pressed his hands against her arms and squeezed gently. "I had a moment of weakness. I'm sorry," he apologised.

"No...that's not _good_ enough..."

"I don't know why y' so goddamn mad," he admitted. "Y' keep remindin' me this isn't a marriage, then y' keep referrin' t' y'self as my _wife_. I'm _confused_ chere...I don't know what t' feel here...I don't know if y' mad 'cause I've blown my chances at escapin' here or..." he turned her around. "If y' mad 'cause y' t'ink I betrayed y'."

"Can't it be both?" she asked sullenly.

He stared at her worriedly, his eyes were so tired that it made her sleepy just to look into them. "I didn't betray y'."

"How was kissing her _back_ not betrayal?"

He sighed, "'cause for just one moment...I was thinkin' of you..." he confessed. "Thinkin'...how it would have been, the night we got married...t' have kissed y' good and proper..." he sighed. "That kiss with Belle...might be the last kiss I ever _have_."

"What are you _talkin'_ about?" Rogue pulled away from him.

"If I stay wit' you...then...there are no more kisses..."

She found it hard to respond for a moment, she floundered. "Stay with...me..." she repeated the words.

"Yeah."

"This is all _fake_, remember?" she kept her voice low. "Tonight we go up and get your _sentence,_ and if you get to leave here, you come back with me, we get annulled or divorced or whatever the procedure is and then we go back to bein' _friends._ You're probably gonna go off and date a thousand girls...probably gonna be screwin' a different girl every night..."

Remy sighed, "what if I don't want that?"

"What if you don't want _what_, Remy?"

"What if I don't _want_ t' go back to bein' me. What if I don't _want _t' play around with other girls and get laid every night by a different one. Fuck, chere...what if I _don't_ wanna get this annulled?"

Rogue raised her eyebrow, "well...then we'd be _married_ forever, I guess..." she shrugged, "But it doesn't really _mean anything._"

"Y' don't t'ink so?" he asked. "Y' t'ink it don't mean anyt'ing when I tell people I love y'? Y' don't t'ink it mean anyt'ing when I say I be willin' t' go the rest of my life not bein' kissed...not bein' _touched..._jus' t' be _with you_."

She stared at him blankly.

"I just _lost_ the only person in my life who ever _really_ gave half a damn 'bout me...and that wasn't really worth much," he confessed. "Y' t'ink I'm ready t' give you up too?"

"But you wouldn't be _givin'_ me up...you'd still be with me in the mansion...we'd be on the same team."

"It's got t' be _more_ than that. I want _more_ with _you._"

"That's _stupid_. There _isn't_ any more. To want _more_ is to settle for _less..._and that means Ah'd be _holdin' you back_."

"If settlin' for less is what y' _call_ it...then I'm happy t' let it be that way."

"Ah don't think you can be..."

"Yes I _can_..." he grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. "All I _want_ is t' be with y'...in whatever _capacity_ I _can_ be. If it means we gotta play it safe for the rest of our _lives, _so be it...I don't _care._ Y' the only girl t' make me _feel_ like this..."

She glanced down to her bare feet uneasily.

"Y' said to me...a few days ago...that my _heart_ was racin'..." he said softly, "did it ever occur t' y'...that it was racin' because of _you_?"

Her eyes shifted up to him briefly just to look away again, her cheeks hot.

"Y' the only girl who ever made it _race_ like that...and all it took was y' bein' _near_ me..." he brushed her hair from her face, careful not to let his fingers touch her cheek, "what else do y' think that _could_ be other than _love ?_"

"Ah think..." she swallowed nervously, "that you're grievin'...and you're scared...and that you don't wanna be alone."

"Maybe y' right...maybe this _is_ grief..." he admitted. "But...what if those feelin's began before Jean-Luc died?"

Her eyes met with his. "What?"

"When I told him I loved y' on the _day_ we came back...I wasn't kiddin'...I had made my mind up the night we got married...and it's only been get'n _stronger_ day by day..." he sighed.

Her stomach was in knots to hear all this. She wasn't sure how she was supposed to respond to a revelation like this. Was there a right and wrong response?

He waited for her to say something, and when she didn't his face just fell. "I dreaded this happenin' y' know...I saw it goin' bad from the minute I said _I do._"

"It's goin' bad?" she asked quietly.

"If y' ain't gonna say the _L word_ back to me...then yeah, it's goin' bad."

Rogue sighed, "look...even if Ah _did_ say that...and Ah'm _not sayin_' Ah will..." she began. "It doesn't _change_ anything...and even if we _did feel that way..._" she shook her head, "goin' back to _Bayville_ will change _everythin',_ and you _know_ that."

"How will it change?"

"Because it _will_."

"_How?" _he demanded, his eyes full of hurt.

"Because when we get to Bayville...you won't need me anymore."

Remy blinked. "What...?"

"You need me here...while your family were tearing you up...while you needed help with the funeral..." she swallowed, near tears. "But when this is all over...and you _stop_ hurtin'...when you get yourself together...you aren't gonna need me anymore...you'll move on."

"No...that's not _true," _he reached for her.

"Yes it is..." she pulled back and made her way for the door, "and Ah don't want to put _myself_ through that. It took too _long_ to get where Ah am...Ah'm sorry Remy...Ah just can't do it."

* * *

~ End of Part Twelve ~

Out a little later than I anticipated (I was working on the start of what possibly may be a sequel – we'll see how that goes). In the meantime, part thirteen will be the FINAL part and has already been written (I've still a few touches to add before it's uploaded but it won't be long before it is).

Thanks to everyone for their awesome reviews, I've hit over 100 reviews now, and I love hearing from you all. You're the reason I've kept this story going, and you've all inspired me to keep writing. Thanks all, you're the best.


	13. Part Thirteen

DERRANGED MARRIAGE

~ Part Thirteen ~

~ Sacrifice ~

* * *

Remy felt like an idiot. It wasn't very often he felt like an idiot, because he'd always somehow managed to rely on his charm and wit to get him out of most situations that should ever cause him to look like one.

But now he felt like a prized idiot.

It had been bad timing – he couldn't deny that the day of his father's funeral had been the wrong day to confess he loved Rogue. He couldn't deny that it had been even _worse_ timing to do so after being caught kissing with Bella Donna.

_Why did I do that? Why did I kiss her _back?_ Am I that fucking _stupid? _Why did I just risk _everything_ for nothing? _

So many things had just happened at once and somehow he hadn't been able to censor himself; he hadn't been able to help kissing Bella Donna back...it had been the first time he'd been kissed in months...the first time he'd been offered anything other than a platonic touch and for one moment he'd been been unable to ignore the part of him that _was _still a man.

But then the thought of Rogue had invaded every part of him, and he'd imagined Bella Donna's lips were hers...and the sad reality that they were not nor would they ever be had given him enough strength and determination to knock her back.

Something else he hadn't been able to censor was how he felt for Rogue...he hadn't been able to help himself as he tried desperately to apologise and _stop_ her from walking out on him. He couldn't blame her for doing so.

He felt sick to the stomach as he walked downstairs only an hour later after stewing up in his room trying to decide what course of action to take next, how to explain himself...how to hopefully _win_ her affection or at least get her to give him a chance.

When he came down the stairs, he found that the mourners had all left; their cars had left a great big mess of the lawn, but he didn't care. Rogue wasn't anywhere in the house; Remy felt immediately responsible and wondered if she _had_ left. He winced at the thought as he stepped through into the kitchen to find Logan putting plates away in a cupboard.

"Seen Rogue?" Remy asked meekly.

"She went for a walk. Looked upset. Didn't ask her what was wrong," Logan shrugged. "You did something?"

"Fucked up. Royally," Remy said miserably.

"How?" Logan's expression darkened.

"Told her how I felt."

"I guess that was too much of a blow for her to handle right now on top of all this," Logan grumbled. "Ya gotta be careful with Rogue, like I said..."

"Most people would be _happy_ t' hear someone love them...she act like it was the most miserable thing could ever happen."

"To hear someone loves her when she can't do much about it...sure that's gonna make her _miserable," _Logan stated. "She's just confused. And I can't blame her."

"She's not the only one who's confused," Remy rubbed the back of his neck, the tension building up at the back of his neck was painfully tight. "She thinks I won't _need _her anymore...once we're away from here...she's out of her goddamn mind if she thinks that..."

"Will you need her once ya get over all this?"

Remy frowned, "you believe I won't?"

"I don't know."

"Why?"

"I think ya need her, Gambit. But I think ya might also be too independent to tie yourself down to _one_ girl. She knows that...she's heard all about your reputation all over town. And she's not _able_ to keep you content with what you're used to getting...so can you honestly _blame_ her for having doubts?"

"This is so fucked up."

"Love _can't_ be simple when ya gonna be limited to never touchin' maybe for the rest of your life."

"I know that," Remy frowned.

"And ya don't care?" he asked.

"I've _had_ my fill of that kind of relationship...it was nice...but..."

"It's not what ya got with Rogue."

"I can't _explain_ it," Remy admitted. "It's like I don't _care_ about it when I'm with her...I don't _need_ anything from her...other than just her _being with me._"

"You sure about that."

"Maybe. I mean..._I'd like more_, but...if bein' with her _means_ givin' all that up...then...I'd be ready enough to make that sacrifice...it'd be worth it t' be with her."

"Sounds like you're content," Logan remarked.

"You sound mad with me," said Remy as he dropped himself tiredly into a chair, he loosened his tie with a grunt.

Logan turned and stared at Remy, his gaze was always cold, but he didn't seem particularly angry. "It's not that I'm _mad_, Gambit. It's that I don't trust you to _not_ hurt her, like I said. Rogue isn't the kind of girl who can just _bounce back_ from a relationship gone sour...as much as I don't _want _to set her aside from the rest of the girls in the world, she's _different_...she's not gonna find a whole lot of guys out there willin' to pick up the pieces and put up with never bein' able to get close to her...and to be _dropped_ for it would _destroy_ her."

"What makes you think I'd _drop_ her at all?" Remy demanded. "Y' don't _do _that t' someone y' love."

"Do you love her?" Logan asked seriously.

"The question is," Remy frwoend, "Do _you_ love her?"

Logan moved over and sat in the chair opposite. "Do I love her? Absolutely. The way I love all the _other_ kids at Xaviers," he answered. "But that's not _really_ what you're asking here, is it?"

"I guess not."

"What kinda bothers me," Logan admitted, he folded his arms on the table, "is that you _expect_ it of me. You _expect_ somethin' underhanded..."

"It's not like it isn't _possible,_ mon ami. How many instructors in the world in all kinds of schools abuse their positions t' get closer to students? People always usin' their power t' hurt people...it's the way things always are. And you're probably the only person who has the ability t' recover from what her powers can do..."

"So..." Logan sighed, "you think...because your dad did something..._underhanded_ to you...that I'm gonna do the same to Rogue?"

"He never did anythin' underhanded to me," Remy furiously remarked. Just the comment Logan had made left foul taste in his mouth, and a tightness in his chest that made it hard to breathe.

"How many fathers abuse their positions of trust to hurt their children?"

Remy looked away. "What's that got to do with _anythin'?_"

"I can tell just from your tone that it's got _plenty_ to do with _everythin'. _How long did it go on for?"

"I dunno what you're talkin' about," Remy ran a fingernail across the dented pine table top.

"You were a kid taken off the _street,_ physically _and_ emotionally abused. You were an easy _target_ for the wrong kind of person."

"You assume too much."

"I'm assuming nothing. Your reaction tells me all I need to know...you honestly think I can't _tell_ your father went further than what you say?"

"He weren't my father."

"No. He was the guy who abused you."

"He hit me. He hit everyone. He was free with his fists."

"He did more than hit you. There's emotional bruises on you, LeBeau. Kind you can't see...but I can hear them in the way you _talk_ about him...can see it hidden behind your eyes when someone mentions his name. He _damaged_ you...more than just a couple of slams in the face with a fist..."

"Look, it's really _none_ of your business," Remy slammed his fist on the table.

"You're right," Logan said finally, a sigh escaped his lips. "Really, it's not. But I just wanna point out that _just because_ you had a _bad experience_ doesn't mean it's gonna happen to Rogue with me. I wouldn't do _anythin'_ to hurt her."

"Bad _experience_," Remy said through gritted teeth, there was something about the way that Logan said it that _felt_ like the catalyst for a fight, he couldn't ignore it, not now that his blood was starting to boil. "Y' think I would jus' sit back and _let_ him do that t' me? Y' think I'm _that_ weak!"

"I don't know what to think about ya, you're a closed book, Gambit."

Remy picked up the salt shaker on the table and charged it up in his hand, he threw it towards the wall and it exploded, leaving part of the inside wall missing in it's wake, the salt all over the floor and the nearby counter.

"Ya let him hit you," Logan remarked after the blast; he hadn't even flinched. "Ya did sit back and take _that. _Maybe you'd sit by and let him do a whole lot more if you thought you _deserved_ it."

"Maybe I _did. _So _what_?" Remy pushed himself up from the chair, he turned to head towards the back door where he found Rogue standing looking astounded. His heart felt like it might be caught in his throat now at that gaze. He couldn't stand that gaze and he had to turn away from it, it felt like if he kept looking he'd feel her eyes burning right down into his soul. Had she heard everything?

"What would make you deserve bein' handled that way?" Logan asked carefully. "What could you have _done_ that made you deserve a beatin' on a regular basis, _Remy_. What makes you _think_ that you deserved the years of emotional, physical _and_ sexual abuse?"

Remy drew his breath in deep and held it in his lungs so long it began to hurt. He'd never really given it a _name_. He'd been avoiding thinking about it; had tried to lock it up in a little place in his mind where no one could get to. Why was it these people seemed to have the key?

"Remy..." Rogue coaxed gently, she placed her hand on his back and he flinched away from her defensively. He couldn't have her touching him while this was all being brought up, it was too weird...too inappropriate.

"Don't!" he held up a hand to her warningly.

"Whatever he done...whatever happened...it's hauntin' you..." Logan growled. "It's there at the back of everything you ever do down here...it's what you're always running from when you come to Bayville...he's the _face_ you're fighting when you spar for your life against every enemy you've ever had..."

Remy swallowed hard, it felt like there might be a rock stuck in his throat at that moment and he tried to get it down enough to speak.

"Chew it up, spit it out and let it _go,_ kid. We planted him in the ground six feet below, he can't _hurt_ you anymore. He ain't _comin'_ back. Y' got nothin' t' fear...nothin' t' be ashamed of anymore...so tell us, Remy. Why did you _deserve _it?"

"I killed her, alright?" he spun around to yell in Rogue's face, his voice high and full of distress, he tried to shove her out of the way; he hadn't realised he'd been so rough because before he could even get past her he felt Logan's hand tight around his arm and he was swung away from the door before he had the chance to walk out.

_Wouldn't have been that easy t' just walk away,_ he mused, feeling close to tears. _Never was._

"You killed who?" Logan demanded.

Remy looked away, his chest rising and falling fast, his back pinned hard against the wall by the door. He couldn't say her name, it felt _improper _to use her name. He hadn't used the woman's name since the day it had happened...and he wasn't about to start again now.

Rogue spoke up, her voice shaky. "Your mother?"

"She was tryin' t' get away! I was tryin' t' help her..." Remy looked down to the floor, his eyes glassy.

"What did you do?" Logan demanded.

"He was gonna kill her! He had his hands around her throat! I tried t' stop him..." Remy drew his breath, words broken, heart thumping fast, "everythin' was happenin' so fast, we were at the top of the stairs and I tried to stop him from stranglin' her...and...I pushed him and it caused her t' fall..." he swallowed.

"Oh God..." Rogue whispered.

"I tried t' catch her but I was too small t' hold her...and she fell and so did I..." he swallowed, "and she caught me t' try and save me...and broke my fall...and when her neck snap...she was holdin' on t' me."

"But it was an _accident,_" Rogue stated.

"Doesn't bring her back...doesn't take it back...doesn't make it _okay_...doesn't _excuse it._"

"He's been hurtin' you ever since?" Rogue asked softly.

Remy looked away from them both, "I killed his wife...don't y' think he was _entitled _t' hate me? Y' don' think I was _meant t'_ suffer some?"

"I don't think he was entitled to lay a _hand_ on ya," Logan remarked, he let go of Remy, "and ya shouldn't be tellin' yourself that he was."

Remy moved away. "If I hadn't-"

"If you hadn't _what,_ Remy?" Rogue demanded, "If you hadn't got involved _he_ would have killed her anyway...Tante Mattie told me about all the stuff he did...he would have gone on until there was no life left _in_ her!"

"He wouldn't have _killed_ her. He's not a murderer."

"Keep tellin' yourself that, kid," Logan snarled, "ruin what's left of the life _he _didn't finish ruinin'. Fuck, why ya would even _come back here_ doesn't make sense. If ya had come to _us_ we would have protected ya from these people...ya wouldn't have _needed_ to come back here...ya know that..."

Remy slid down the wall and sat upon the floor, he stared into space. "I never wanted t' come back here. But I _had_ t' come back...t' make sure nothin' happened to him and Henri...I owe _somethin'_ t' them...even if they hate me...even if I hate them..."

"You owe them _nothin',_" Rogue dropped to her knees at his side, "You supported them, took the fall for their crimes, let them use you...how can you _say_ you owe them anything? What happened _wasn't_ your fault and if Jean-Luc hadn't been beatin' up on Vivienne you wouldn't have _had_ to get involved and it wouldn't have happened. He _caused_ that accident himself!"

Remy shook his head, "no. It was my fault. 'Cause they were fightin' about _me._"

He felt Rogue's eyes on him, her stare was heavy like the drag of chains.

"She didn't want me goin' into the _family_ business. She already regretted ever lettin' him train up Henri...and when he started trainin' me she tried t' draw the line...'cause I had no one else t' draw that line for me..." Remy swallowed. "And he got mad...always had a temper...always layin' his hands on people when they didn't deserve it...always...and she never deserved it...but she got it...'cause of me."

Rogue brushed his hair away from his eyes tenderly. "Not because of you. Because of _him_. You can't be blamed for _his_ actions..."

"Y'know that was when he really started drinkin' _really _heavily..." Remy sighed, "I'm responsible for _his_ death...I'm responsible for _hers..._I'm responsible for Henri takin' off to god knows where..." Remy pulled himself up slowly. "And the two of _you..._" he headed for the door, "jus' wan' make me relive it."

"That's _not what we're tryin to do,_" Rogue sounded angry, "Ah _want_ to help you...we both do...we just need to know _what_ it is that's tearin' you up."

"She's right, gumbo," said Logan. "Can't begin to help you with your problems if we don't know what they _are_. Talkin' about it is the first step to getting _help._"

"I didn't _ask_ for your help on this. All I want is to get out of this place..._that_ was all I asked for..." Remy's eyes fell on the clock on the windowsill, it showed nine pm. A sudden surge of nausea seemed to wave through him from his stomach to the back of his throat. "And now...it's time t' go to the council hall...and wait for the _sentence_."

"But-" Rogue began.

"Later," he said. "We don't have time to fuck around with _this _shit right now...we need to get there...'cause if we don't..."

"If we don't?" Rogue asked.

"They could just see it as insolence...and make the decision anyway..."

* * *

Rogue gripped the windowsill of the car door as Remy stepped on the gas down the long road that seemed to go on forever. The sky was still slightly light despite the sun had set an hour before and yet the heat had not died with the falling of that sun.

Wiping her sweat-tinged hair away from her face she gave a sigh. "What are we supposed to say at this thing anyway?" she asked uneasily. "Shouldn't we have _rehearsed_ what we're meant to say?"

"No. Rehearsing lines makes it sound _too_ glossy_,_" Remy remarked coolly, his eyes were on the rear view mirror. "We don't want it sounding _like_ we rehearsed this."

"Then what do we say?"

"Whatever comes to mind...but don't take too much time thinkin' it over...or they'll know right away that this whole thing is a fucked up lie..." he responded.

"Ah'm kinda nervous."

"Don't be. Even if the sentence gets passed that we have t' get this annulled nothin' will happen t' you."

"And you?"

"Marriage...punishment...god knows what else. I've never really _crossed_ these people before...all I know is that the _Assassins_ get to decide my punishment if I should be caught lyin'."

"What could they do?"

"I don't know. I heard a story once that one of Jean-Luc's distant cousins was caught stealing from an Assassination target and was left t' fend for himself in the middle of the Sahara desert with no clothes on. I don't think his body was ever found."

Rogue shuddered. "What do you think they'll do to you?"

"Best case scenario, they get ready to marry me to Belle. Worse case...in addition to forcin' me to marry Belle, the council make me their whipping boy for the next twenty or so years I might actually have some usefulness."

"Could they do that?"

"How you think Jean-Luc got so bitter in the first place?"

Rogue blinked, "they did that to him?"

"Up until he got too drunk to care or be useful. He lost interest in keepin' in shape and got careless...fell a few times...hurt his back and when y' hurt y' back doin' our line of work...it can affect how y' break in t' a place...y'know? If y' ain't got the flexibility, then y' gonna struggle with certain aspects of the job and it gets y' caught. After he nearly got caught, I took the rap and spent a couple days in jail – though they couldn't hold me with not enough evidence. Jean-Luc subsequently got chosen as the _guild_ leader 'cause it was the only job he was _capable_ of after that – his mistake could have cost the entire guild t' be exposed."

"So what was he like as a leader?" Rogue queried.

"Great at planning, good at barkin' orders but _lousy_ at doin' the jobs himself. It's true what they say y'know, those who can't _teach. _He trained us all."

"He was good at that?"

"He was great at it. It's always the way of it...the ones who're real hardasses are the ones who always get you t' live up t' y' real potential."

"He made you really live up to yours," Rogue admitted.

Remy glanced uneasily at the clock on the dash, then slowed the car to a stop. Rogue watched him with confusion, surely they couldn't be there already? She glanced around but there was nothing for miles other than trees. Her eyes watched his shaking hand as he put on the parking brake, and he turned to her slowly.

"What's wrong?" she asked of him.

"Y' know there's a _good_ chance this might not _all_ go t' plan."

Rogue didn't want to believe that, and she shook her head in refusal of the news.

"We _might_ not be leavin' together tonight."

"Yes, we _will,_" Rogue said, she put her hand on his, "we'll leave and we'll be X-Men together."

"No, there's a chance this is all gon' blow up in my face. And y' need t' prepare y'self for it. I do _too," _he glanced down at her hand upon his, resting on the parking brake. He raised his hand with hers upon it to kiss her gloved knuckle. "I just need y' t' know...that this past ten days has meant _a lot_ t' me."

Her eyes fell to the dashboard, she felt sick at the thought of standing in front of the council, she was afraid of their sentence on to him. He'd survive, yes, but they'd take away what little freedom he'd ever had and break him in the process. Bella Donna would perhaps be good to him – it seemed she did love him after all – but he'd be bitter and resentful of her following their marriage. He'd never be _happy_, would he? He'd be stuck here...stuck with the memories...the bright light of his soul would be snuffed out like a candle.

"Y' done a lot more for me than anyone ever has. Y' the only person t' show me true kindness...only person to sacrifice f' _me _without askin' for _anything_ in return."

"Ah didn't sacrifice anything," Rogue said quietly.

"Y' sacrificed more than y' know..." Remy sighed, "You...you will _never_ be the same after this..." he looked at her. "And y' never gon' see me the same ever again either."

"You think that?" Rogue asked.

"After what I said," he looked to the steering wheel, "y' knowin' I was responsible for the death of another human bein'...knowin' the pain I've been through at the hands of another...y' can't just _overlook that. _It's _always_ gonna be in the back of your mind...y' always gon' be feelin' sorry for me...always wonderin' if things that get said are gonna stir up memories or feelin's I went through...things I tried t' forget..." he gripped the steering wheel hard.

She had to think about this. It was always a possibility that it _would_ be forever back in her mind now that it had been aired. But she also had to _hope_ that she could overlook it and focus on other things, such as what a good person Remy actually _was,_ and not how _damaged_ he had revealed himself to be.

"Maybe it'd be just as well if this whole thing _did_ get revealed t' be a sham,"he sighed, he rubbed his head. "I've ruined things...things aren't _gon' _be the same with us even if I do go back with you to Bayville..."

"'Course they'll be the same," Rogue reached for him and touched his shoulder, she gave it a comforting squeeze.

"I was bein' _selfish_ when I said I loved you..."

"Why is that selfish?" she asked in a shaky tone. She already knew the answer. Love _was_ a selfish feeling...it was the want of something so bad it could barely be stand. She was beginning to understand it all too well.

"'Cause I knew that lettin' you in t' my life is gon' _ruin_ parts of yours...I was just so...caught up in the fact that I ever _could_ feel that for anyone. Comin' from here...I wasn't sure I had the capacity in me t' feel that way about _anyone_..." he blinked, and Rogue noticed there was a trickle of water dancing it's way down his cheek. "I've never _felt_ like anyone was _there_ for me...never felt like I _needed_ anyone b'fore..." he angrily swiped at his cheek leaving a wet smear across his face. "I didn't _want_ this. I didn't want the complication and I thought I was _strong_ enough t' get through this. I didn't for one _second_ believe I would _ever_ fall in love with anyone...especially not you..."

Rogue watched him, her whole body was trembling and she couldn't pinpoint why.

"Then on our weddin' day...there you were...all dressed in white, like I had _imagined_ it was gon' be...what I'd sat for weeks plannin' even before I'd _asked_ y' t' make a sacrifice and get me out of my mess..." he swallowed. "I looked at y' comin' down that little aisle, and for one moment...it was like I saw an _angel_ gon' lift me t' salvation..._" _he turned and looked at her.

"I'm no angel," she shrugged.

"But y' are. Y' made me feel like...I was gon' be _saved._ For the first time in my life...someone's been _there_ t' catch me when I fall...and it's only made me _more_ selfish. I want that all the time...I _need _that...I need someone t' save me...'cause I'm not _capable_ of savin' myself."

Rogue drew her breath nervously, "are you...sayin' that you _need_ me?"

"Need y'...want y'...ache for y'...it's like magnetic force...I'm bein' _pulled_ towards y', chere," he spoke with a shaky voice, his lip trembling. He glanced towards the clock, and with a sigh of resignation he started the car again "Lets get this over with...I hate long goodbyes."

* * *

The Council Hall was in the middle of nowhere, virtually, as Rogue discovered. Remy had to get out of the car to move back the low hanging branches of trees to reveal a hidden road that made it's way for another twenty minutes until it led to what looked like the oldest cemetery in Louisiana. The entrance, Rogue thought to be rather cliché, was a mausoleum.

The staircase went down and down for what felt like miles, the smell of earth and burning wax filling Rogue's nostrils as they descended further and further down until they were in a long passage lined with more candles. Remy held onto her hand the whole time, leading the way determinedly, picking up the pace. They were already five minutes late thanks to Remy's unplanned stop on the main road.

Everything he'd said during that brief stop on the journey lingered with her, each sentence seemed to replay itself in her head as she followed him further and further into the caverns.

Eventually, they entered a larger cave which finished with two large carved doors. One door was carved intricately with the design of a dagger entwined by serpents, the other door, a key shape on what looked to be the carving of a foxes head. Each door was a symbol, Rogue realised. Assassin, and Thief.

"This is it..." Remy said softly, he brushed his fingers against the foxhead carving with a strange look of regret upon his face.

"Are you ready?" she asked of him.

"Doesn't matter anymore," he responded, and he gave the Thieves door a hard push and it moved slowly as he did.

Inside, the hall was massive; bigger than Rogue had thought it might be. The floors were ancient carved stone, their designs mostly filled by dust. A C shaped table was facing them, nine cloaked and masked figures taking the seats, the central dome end had only one recognisable face behind a black mask. The alien eyes gave it away, Rogue felt. The rest of the hall was almost bland, but it's size and echo gave it such resonance and sense of importance; it was meant to be intimidating, Rogue realised, and it _was_.

"Sorry we're late," said Remy dully as he closed the door behind them, "we had to clear away the mess from Jean-Luc's funeral."

"Under the circumstances, you can be forgiven for your untimely entrance, but do not _let _it happen again," said Candra, her voice was thick with a strange timbre that made her seem older than the dawn of man.

Remy nodded and gave a curt bow although Rogue could tell he resented doing this; he gestured for her to do the same and she awkwardly did, feeling very self-conscious and already trying to map out an escape route should anything go wrong.

"Marius and his daughter are both contesting your marriage," Candra spoke, "you have given reason to them to doubt the authenticity of your relationship to this girl."

Remy, still holding onto Rogue's hand, drew her closer to the table, so that they could stand a few feet away from Candra. "Only you can decide the authenticity," he said.

"Why did you go against guild orders to marry this woman?" asked another from the nine council at the table, Rogue glanced around to see who had spoken but with these black masks, she couldn't tell who had done so.

"We were married before-"

"Do not lie," Candra warned. "Checks were made, the sources you used for altering identifications and for altering the date on your marriage license were easily bought."

"I guess that means you paid more than I did," Remy winced.

"We want reasons, not sarcasm," spoke up one of the other council members.

"Rumours circulate around town that your marriage is not even _consummated,"_ spoke up another council member, an older sounding gentleman with a French accent.

"Sex doesn't define a marriage," Remy spoke quickly.

"We still need reasons, young LeBeau. It is a _crime_ against the guilds that you have committed here."

"It should be _my_ choice who I marry, shouldn't it?" Remy asked, his voice was so tired that Rogue felt like the lack of enthusiasm in his voice might seal his doom.

"Not when you have sworn your _life_ to the guild," Candra stated with a tone that felt like a stamp of finality.

"I swore my life to the guild when I was eleven years _old_," Remy spoke up, "Barely knew how t' tell _time,_ let alone know what I wanted t' _be._"

"Regardless of your age, LeBeau, you are sworn to this guild and sworn to obey orders. Your orders were to marry Bella Donna Bordereaux to seal the pact of peace between the two guilds."

"It would have _never_ worked. You don't think both guilds would have been usin' it as an excuse t' keep tabs on each other?" Remy asked with a frown.

"Maybe so, but there would have been _peace._"

"Not for long," Remy retorted. "So I guess since you all think this marriage was such a sham and proved that I went about it the _wrong_ way, that you've already decided on my sentence."

"Perhaps," said Candra. "Perhaps not."

"What's that s'pposed t' mean?" Remy asked.

"Things have been _brought_ into question, Gambit. Perhaps there are other arrangements to be made."

"_Other_ arrangements? What _other_ arrangements."

"Perhaps to let you be _free_ of this betrothal altogether," Candra stood up slowly, she slipped her mask off and sighed, her expression rather bored.

"Free...I like the sound of it," Remy confessed.

"And free of _marriage_ too," Candra added, glancing towards Rogue and forcing a slight smile.

Remy and Rogue briefly glanced at each other before looking back to the council leader.

"Without any repercussions?"

"I didn't say that," Candra warned.

"Then what?"

"Since the death of your father, you must realise that this leaves a rather large _gap_ in the Thieves guild."

"Course it does," Remy shrugged.

"And you would fill that gap."

Rogue gasped and turned to look at Remy, she could barely believe the suggestion of it.

"Are you _crazy!_" Remy blinked, "I'm not a _leader_. It'd be like the _blind_ leadin' the fuckin' _blind._"

"You took charge of things when you needed to with maturity and strength, you have worked exhaustedly into amassing a large fortune, you have the skill, finesse and intelligence to pass your training onto others..." Candra explained.

"I had _help. _I didn't deal with _anything..._my _wife_ took charge...I didn't..."

"You still worked through it regardless of this...you stood and gave your eulogy instead of hiding weakly like your brother did."

"But Henri _should_ be the next in line to be leader...he's Jean-Luc's _heir_," Remy reminded.

"Henri has neither the want nor _ability_," one of the masked council grunted, "a waste of space in the guild, unlike yourself. You have _potential_."

"I don't _want_ to have potential...I want t' be _out_ of here...I want t' lead my own life, be _free_ of this. I've done my time...I've worked off my family's debts..." Remy reminded.

"What would you _do_ out there? Outside of _guild_ life?"

Remy drew a breath, "I want t' be with my wife."

"The wife you married, not out of _love_ but out of desperation to avoid marrying someone else..." Candra pointed out.

"Never said I didn't love her," Remy remarked angrily.

"Is there love?" questioned Candra.

One of the other council members spoke up, a larger figure, a woman's voice soft yet strong broke through before Remy could begin to response.

"You only have to _look_ at this two to know there's something _there."_

Rogue raised an eyebrow. She recognised that voice.

"You think so?" asked Candra, curiously.

"Symmetry...balance...you can practically _see _the bond stretching between them."

_Tante Mattie? _Rogue wondered in surprise as she stared ahead. It had never struck her as being possible that Tante Mattie might be on the council herself.

"Then perhaps an exception could be made to allow the new _Mrs. _LeBeau to remain married to him _and remain_ with him while he runs the guild," Candra suggested.

"No..." Rogue shook her head, "don't you understand that he needs to be _away_ from here?"

"I did not give you allowance to speak," Candra responded quickly.

Remy sighed, "can't I just be _exiled_ instead? I'll do _anything_ you ask in order t' be exiled."

"No one is ever _exiled_ from the guild, Remy. Those who are exiled take our secrets and those who take our secrets can work against us."

"I don't want to pass on your secrets...I want a life that's _mine,_" Remy pleaded desperately.

"I'm sorry, the answer is no."

"Could I buy my freedom?"

A pause amongst the council, then they all glanced between each other questioningly before Candra spoke again. "What would _you_ have to offer that we do not already have?" Candra demanded.

"My fortune," he answered.

"Your fortune...of how much? The three million sitting in six bank accounts?" Candra laughed.

Rogue blinked. _Remy has three million? Wow..._

Remy frowned, "I'm talkin' about my fortune of _sixty_-three million sitting in forty-eight bank accounts worldwide, actually."

There was a sudden hushed whisper amongst all nine council members; Rogue took that moment to spin around and gape at Remy. "Sixty-three _million_?"

"I told y' I had money," he remarked with a nervous smile.

"How the hell did you-?" Rogue began.

"Don't ask," he warned her.

"Sixty-three million is a lot of money," Candra finally said.

"I know both guilds are worth considerably more," Remy explained, "but I also know the_ Thieves_ haven't brought any of _their_ share in a while since Jean-Luc became _dependent_ on drink. Each guild is asked to pay a percentage of their earnings each year at what? Minimum of two million?" Remy asked, "How many years has that gone unpaid now? Three?"

Candra gave a steady nod.

"Money is all I have other than myself and my wife," Remy explained.

A strange smile warped Candra's alien-beautiful face. "And would you sacrifice _her_ for your freedom?"

Rogue's heart gave a hard thump and she turned to look at Remy awaiting his response. _Would_ he sacrifice her for freedom? She had to wonder...he wanted it so badly it seemed.

Remy's face darkened, "you want _me_ to hand over my wife...for freedom."

"Her powers could be useful to us," Candra admitted.

"No..." Remy shook his head and moved to stand in front of Rogue, "you can't have her. She's _off_ limits."

"You said you would do _anything_ in order to be exiled," reminded one of the other council members, his accent thick and mean.

"I can't sacrifice her."

"Are you sure about that?" Candra asked.

"I _love_ her. If lettin' _her_ go free from here means _I_ have t' make the sacrifice, then so be it. She's sacrificed enough for me. It's my turn now."

Candra moved away from the table to walk around it and stand in front of Remy. "You would do that for love?"

"Yes..." Remy nodded, "I would."

She moved aside her cloak to take something from her hip.

"Candra, no!" came the cry of Tante Mattie from the end of the table, the large woman was standing, her large brown eyes from behind her mask were wide with horror.

"Silence," said Candra. "Sacrifice is what he's speaking of here and sacrifice it shall be..." she unsheathed a dagger and held it up, offering it to him. "Make your choice, Remy LeBeau; make your sacrifice. You give her to us in return for your freedom...or you take the sacrifice yourself, and sacrifice yours for hers."

Rogue stared at the dagger, it flashed in the light of many burning candles. "No, Remy..." she shook her head. "Don't do that..."

He turned to look at her, "what choice do I have?" he asked.

"Let them take me...and I'll figure a way out..." she whispered to him, although she was positive Candra could hear her.

"No...I can't do that...you've sacrificed _everythin' for me..._it's time I did the _same_."

"But you're talkin' about your_ life_."

"My life isn't worth livin' _without_ you in it," he stated. "I got nothin' _left_ but you, and I don' wan' _live _in a world that doesn't have you there with me in it..." he took the dagger from Candra.

"Remy no!" Rogue grabbed his wrist, "think about this...the X-men will get me...they'll _save_ me. This _isn't_ the only option here..."

"I've made my decision," Remy said to Candra.

"Remy, no..." Rogue blinked tears, "please don't...think about this! You wanted your freedom, we _did_ this for your freedom...you _can't _just give in now!"

"I'll be free," he broke free of her arm, "just lemme hear what I wanna hear b'fore I do this..." he pleaded.

Rogue shook her head, "No..." she refused, tears spilling down her cheeks.

"This gon' be the only time I ever _hear_ it, chere...gon' be the first and last...it's only fittin' that it's you...my wife...the moon..." he pushed the tip of the blade to his stomach.

"Remy Ah..." she lunged forward to try to grab the knife from him; her arms were instantly held back by an invisible force and she gasped; Candra had her arm held up, apparently the immortal had telekinetic abilities. "Let me go!"

"This is a guild matter! Your interference cannot me tolerated!" Candra warned.

"Remy! Don't do it!"

"I gotta..." Remy swallowed, he was breathing hard and fast, his chest rising and falling quickly, both hands curled firmly around the hilt.

"No..." she pleaded, she felt tears trickling down her cheeks.

"Y' the only person I ever loved my entire life..." he drew a deep breath, and braced himself, Rogue saw the muscles in his face tense as he prepared for the pain.

"Ah love you too..." she whispered, she felt her breath catch in the middle of her throat as she saw the blade slide into him. Her arms suddenly were let lose by the grasp of Candra's telekinetic powers and she rushed towards him, gasping. "Remy!"

Remy made an odd sound that made Rogue's stomach turn. He was looking down to the dagger in his hands in shock and confusion.

"Remy...oh my god..." she placed her hand on both of his to hold the dagger there. She remembered her first aid training...if he took that blade out, he was going to bleed to death...if she left it there she could perhaps somehow still get help somehow until it could be removed and someone could stem the bleeding. But how long would he live?

His expression was so...troubled...and he moved his hands outwards to remove the blade from himself.

"No!" Rogue tried to stop him; her eyes fell to the blade to see that there was no blood at all upon it...not a smear...no blood on his pristine white shirt either...it should have been soaked with it by now but not a drop stood out in contrast.

He freed the blade from himself completely, holding it away from himself and looking at it, nonplussed and apparently free of pain.

Rogue grabbed the bottom of his shirt to rip the buttons open, a few pinging off in her haste; no blood, no wound, no nothing. His torso was still perfectly in tact. She smoothed her gloved hands over him as if to make sure, gaping, looking for anything that might have taken a moment to reveal itself but it appeared that the dagger had _not_ penetrated his skin at all.

"You're okay..." she whispered. "It didn't go _through_!"

Confused, they both looked at Candra, who had taken the dagger away from Remy to show them that the blade sprung into the hilt at the lightest pressure on the tip. "A noble sacrifice, had the blade been real. It's hard to believe you would take your life for someone else, Remy, given your history..."

Remy grabbed onto Rogue's arms to hold himself steady, he looked queasy.

"Your marriage may be a cleverly executed piece of trickery that unfortunately wasn't enough to fool us, but your _love_ for this girl...it seems to be quite real...and your true feelings speak volumes..." Candra sighed.

Rogue pressed her face to Remy's shoulder and held onto him, the feeling of almost having lost him overwhelmed her and she couldn't bear to let go now.

"What now, Candra?" Remy asked, shaken by the experience of what _could_ have been death. He held onto Rogue tightly – so tightly that it actually hurt her - and sighed in what seemed to Rogue to be the greatest relief.

"You're too valuable for us to exile, but we'll allow you to _buy_ your freedom...on the grounds that should we _need_ your services, you will return when prompted..."

"I..." Remy began, his voice full of disagreement before he'd even really begun the sentence.

"There is no negotiation."

"Under contract only?" he asked, sounding vaguely hopeful.

"Perhaps," Candra tapped her nose.

"So we can leave?"

"As soon as it suits you."

"And no repercussions? No Assassins tailin' me for the rest of my life?" Remy asked hopefully. "No Assassination attempts on me OR my wife?"

"As long as you do nothing else to warrant it," one of the other council members replied.

"What about Henri?" Rogue asked quietly. She couldn't help but feel slightly sorry for Henri despite his wicked attitude and his disregard for Remy. "What will happen to him?"

"We'll keep an eye on him," Tante Mattie spoke up. "I'll make sure of it."

"He may still have usefulness to the guild. Perhaps," Candra admitted. "Keep in mind, though, Remy LeBeau, we _will_ be watching you, and we _will_ call upon yo some day."

"I'll keep it in mind," Remy nodded, his face uncertain.

"Now go. Before we feel obligated to change our minds."

Chapter Sixty-Two

They walked silently to the car, drained from the emotion they'd experienced in the hall. Rogue couldn't believe it was finally all over. Free to go. No more getting up in the morning to make coffee, no more struggling to get comfortable at night on _half_ of a single bed. No more fighting for covers, no more struggling to share a pillow, no more struggling for _privacy_.

"Y' wan' drive?" he asked, tossing her the keys as they approached the car once leaving the cemetery.

"Ah guess," she shrugged. She unlocked the car and leaned over to unlock his door for him. He climbed in with a tired expression on his face. She had a feeling he would probably fall asleep during the drive.

"Drive slow," he instructed, taking his iPhone out of his pocket and unlocking it with the slide of a finger. "I can get a weak signal here and I need t' make arrangements."

Rogue realised that yes, arrangements did have to be made. She would also have some packing when she got back – if she really wanted to keep any of the things Remy had bought her, that was. And his own arrangements...passing on all his bank accounts to the guild council...she supposed that would take a lot of arranging too. Tying up loose ends and paying for the funeral in total still had to be done too.

As Rogue drove, Remy fiddled with the phone, saying nothing, his expression concentrated.

"Remy?" she asked softly as she shifted awkwardly into fifth gear, still not used to the clutch even after eight days she still managed to make it scream in anger with her every time she tried to do so.

"Oui, cherie?"

"You didn't _know_ the dagger was gonna do that...did you?" she asked curiously.

He stopped what he was doing momentarily, his expression dark, "Y' think I'm that good an actor?"

"Of course Ah know you're _that_ good an actor. Ah just wanted to know if you _knew_ the dagger was a trick..."

Remy gave a deep sigh, and shook his head, "I didn't."

"You would have died."

"Maybe. Mighta made it, who knows."

"It was a stupid thing to do," Rogue frowned.

"Was worth it," he answered, "Bought me my freedom, bought me yours..." he placed his right hand up on her knee, "and I got t' hear y' say what I wanted t' hear y' say."

She threw him a look.

"Was a win-win-win, non?"

"Don't sound so smug about it."

"Sorry," he smiled a little. "I just...feel so goddamn _liberated_ right now. I can _leave_, I don't have anyt'ing t' tie me here anymore. I don't have t' worry 'bout my past hauntin' me."

Rogue doubted that he had escaped his past completely. She was sure there were many demons he would still be facing in his life whether he left this hell or not, and she knew eventually he was going to be called back here again...and the memories would eventually resurface too. Still, she tried to force a smile for his sake. "How long before we can get out of this place?"

Remy glanced at his iPhone. "I've booked Logan a flight out for t'morrow mornin', nine am...it's the soonest I could get him out," he explained.

"You're booking _Logan_ a flight, but not us?" she asked. She wasn't sure why he felt obligated to get Logan out...Logan was perfectly capable of making his own arrangements, after all.

"We're taking a later flight out," Remy replied, "_our_ arrangements need a little more time before I get them sorted..."

Rogue raised an eyebrow, "_our_ arrangements?"

"Yeah."

"What _arrangements_?" she asked.

"Well..." he paused for a moment of contemplation, then finally said, "we're goin' t' St. Tropez."

"Wait...that's...where?" she tried to think...geography had never been her _best_ subject.

"French Riviera..." he glanced at her, "sunny beaches, white sand, blue-green water...luxury villa?" he tempted.

"Sounds...expensive...for a man who just paid sixty-three million for his _freedom_," Rogue pointed out.

"I got some spare change saved up," he admitted.

"So...why are we goin' there? Is this to do with more of your _arrangements_ ?"

"No...this is nothin' t' do with anything other than you."

"Huh?"

"I promised you a honeymoon, didn't I? A real one?"

"We aren't even married, really."

"For the next week we are," he smirked. "At least until we go back to Bayville...and your professor _forces_ us t' get an annulment on the grounds of your usin' a _fake _name t' marry me with. And y' _know_ he will. If he _don't,_ I'm sure _Logan _will."

"But-"

"But nothin," he said, "I'm the man, I get t' say what goes."

Rogue gave a strange laugh and shook her head at him.

"Might be nice...no interruptions, no _worries_...just us...alone on a private beach...y' can even get a little thong bikini and get some colour in y'."

Rogue wondered how it was he could joke so easily after everything that had just happened. She wondered how he could just take it in his stride after revealing so much about his past and having experienced death, having almost experienced _his own_. Turning everything into something else was his way, hiding the pain with a joke, trying to make everything alright when it just wasn't. If it helped him get through things at the end of the day, who was she to argue and tell him differently?

_Who am Ah to argue? His wife,_ Rogue reminded herself. _For now, at least._

"Remy...a luxury resort isn't going to _fix_ everything, you know that, right?" she asked quietly. "It's not going to make everything _okay_..."

"I know that," he sighed, "Believe me, I know that..." he squeezed her knee affectionately. "I can't dive right in t' bein' with _your_ family just yet, I need an _adjustment_ period away from mine_ before _I can become part of yours..." he smiled a little. "Besides...I still feel bad that I ruined our weddin' night, and ruined _most_ of the marriage with my _pullin' away_ from you..." he explained. "Y' upheld y' part of the bargain, y' made everythin' about me the moment y' said _I do_. Y' forgave me for the most _stupid_ shit...y' somehow even managed to tolerate and forgive my family for _their_ shit. Everythin' was about me and my family and now it's my turn t' make everythin' about you."

"What we gonna do in St. Tropez, Remy?"

"Anything we want, chere. Anything we want."

* * *

~ The End ~

Thanks to everyone for their constant support and for hanging with me to see the story end. Thanks to Alex who _never_ stopped believing I could do this (and by "this" I mean believe I could actually FINISH a fanfiction!) and for believing this story had something worth posting here.

I'm so grateful to you all for reviewing and keeping my motivation going. You all mean so much to me, and have helped boost my confidence in writing so much even if my grammar sucks and my spelling is a bit questionable at times. Eventually I hope to have this all beta'd and re-posted in better form (it's finding someone willing to go through the 175 pages of this story!) but for now this is all I can offer.

Hopefully the sequel I'm trying to write will be something worth continuing with and posting (and something people will be interested in reading!)

Thank you all again for seeing me to the end!


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